Exit Wounds
by ncfan
Summary: Companion collection to "Entropy." Uryuu, Ryuuken, Soken, others. Gen. Angst. In-progress.
1. Not the Last

**Title**: _Not the Last_**  
>Timeline<strong>: within the timeframe of chapter 37 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: This is a companion collection for the slice-of-life story _Entropy, _which I have already completed. It will consist of things that I didn't think of until it was too far along to fit them in, things that happened so far in the past that they never would have fit, or shorts whose tone didn't fit with the story. The chapters will not be in chronological order. This short, for instance, is something I do regret having not thought of while it still fit.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

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><p>When he was a baby, the greatest object of fascination in Ryuuken's life was the bit of silver chain dangling from his father's wrist. Silent and focused, he would reach for it with the sort of steely determination that would come to characterize him long after childhood was done. If Soken had occasion to be caring for his infant son, he might feel a tug on his wrist, only to find Ryuuken's small, chubby hand clamped firmly around the fine chain. He would always smile at that, even if Ryuuken only blinked at him with owlish brown eyes.<p>

_Curiosity is always good, and the younger it manifests, the better._

Now is different. A baby's fixation on glittering objects, on the chain that cast dancing light on the wall when it caught light itself, turned to a boy's disdain and a grown man's hate. Ryuuken never showed great enthusiasm, not once he knew what the chain and the cross swinging from the end of it represented, and he has abandoned that life, no longer answering to the name of 'Quincy'. (_If he ever answered to that name in his heart is another matter entirely.)_

Soken has never found a way to keep from losing his son's interest, his attention, his good opinion. He's not sure if he ever had it to start with, or if Ryuuken had acquiesced to training simply out of a sense of obligation to his father. The thought of the latter stings both tender heart and thorny pride, but it confronts him every time Ryuuken reaffirms his distaste for the culture he has tried to leave behind.

Ryuuken's son, though, does have the fervent interest that has become so absent in Ryuuken himself.

_Uryuu has always been curious. Then again, Soken has known few children who were totally devoid of a curious streak; even Ryuuken was curious about the family craft at one point, even if he did look down upon it. That's the thing about small children; they always want to know more than they do now, because they have yet to learn that sometimes it's better not to know. They don't know the pain of discovering an answer to a question that should never have been asked, so they just keep asking._

_More to the point, Uryuu asks questions constantly. Questions about mundane things like rain and the flight of birds. _

_("Grandfather, where does all this water come from?" "Where do all the brown geese go when they fly away?")_

_And those questions have, of late, become just a little broader in spectrum._

Wide blue eyes survey Soken with a brilliant, almost feverish eagerness. At the same time, the boy's face showcases a sort of trepidation that keeps him from showing even the slightest hint of a smile. Soken bites back a sigh, knowing where Uryuu's apprehension comes from.

Though they may or may not have spoken about it openly, Soken is sure that Ryuuken has communicated to Uryuu his disapproval of "meddling" in the supernatural world. _Uryuu can't have failed to pick up on his father's disdain. He is so eager to please. I doubt he really wants to incur his father's disapproval._

Soken knows that Ryuuken will not respond well to learning that Uryuu has been introduced to the old teachings; far from it. Ryuuken thinks that these teachings should be forgotten, that the Quincy race should just be allowed to die, and pass out of memory. _"There is no loner place in the world for the Quincy. The world at large knows nothing of us. The Shinigami have forgotten us. What makes you think that we will be able to survive?"_

If it was for anything else, Soken knows he wouldn't interfere like this. Ryuuken is Uryuu's father, the one who claims authority over him. It's his obligation to raise the boy and his right to raise him as he sees fit. Butting in on a parent's territory, subverting their authority is something Soken would normally find nothing short of anathema. He knows that neither he nor Isono would have appreciated someone trying to raise Ryuuken in a different fashion than what they had settled on.

_This isn't something Uryuu can afford to miss, though. _All of Ryuuken's antipathy towards the Quincy teachings doesn't change the fact that eventually his son is going to become a prime target for every Hollow in the area. There's a reason Quincy children have to grow into their abilities, rather than being born with all of the power of an adult. Soken isn't sure if it's an evolutionary defense mechanism or just some happy accident of fate, but Quincy usually don't fully grow into their abilities until after adulthood, until after they've finished training and if a Hollow comes upon them, they can adequately defend themselves.

For right now, Uryuu has about as much reiatsu as can be expected of a four-year-old boy, and as a result, though he has by now witnessed Hollow attacks, he's managed to go unnoticed by them. But if he goes without training, the day will come when he has enough energy, however much it has gone untapped, that he has become something like filet mignon for Hollows, and he won't be able to do anything but run. _You can run all you like, but eventually there will come the Hollow too fast to run from. Ryuuken has to see that. He can't want that to happen to Uryuu._

_He must know that this is necessary._

Soken groans ruefully as he gets down on his knees in order to be on eye level with his grandson. _There must be rain coming. The only other time my knees hurt this much when I try to kneel is during winter. _The earth beneath them is parched and hard-packed, soil turning to dust in the absence of the moisture that would normally keep it together. Wind blows through the dry, yellowed grasses.

"I have something for you," the old man tells the young boy, fishing around in his pockets. "Now if I can just find it," he mutters. After a few more seconds of rifling through pockets, Soken finds what he was looking for. "Ah, here it is. Hold out your hand."

Soken pulls from his pocket a long bit of fine, silver chain with a Celtic cross dangling from it, catching the hot, midsummer sunlight like a mirror. Uryuu stares down at it with furrowed brow and a look on his face as though he's trying to be solemn, but his would-be solemnity is foiled by round eyes and, finally visible, the slightest suggestion of a smile. "What is it?" he asks quietly, turning over the cross in his small hands.

"It's a cross pendant."

"What is that?"

To Uryuu's questioning, Soken only smiles and shakes his head. "When you are training, it will help you to form the spirit bow. You must remember to bring it with you every time you come here, in case you need it."

Ryuuken had been given his pendant when he was not much older than Uryuu was; the same can be said for Soken himself. When Ryuuken left home, though he had always claimed that he didn't want it and though his concentration was fine-tuned enough that he certainly didn't _need _it, he took the childhood pendant with him. Soken doesn't know if Ryuuken still has it. Though it's just as likely that Ryuuken has gotten rid of his pendant, Soken likes to think that he kept it.

Since Ryuuken took his pendant with him, the one given to Uryuu now is the one Soken trained with as a child. Quincy would often keep their pendants long after they no longer needed them to form the spirit bow, out of a sense of sentimentality, or to give to their children. This is no different.

Soken reaches forward and closes the child's hand over the pendant. "For now, keep it close, keep it safe. And for the time being," he goes on, just sternly enough to know he has Uryuu's full attention, "keep it out of sight from prying eyes."

There is a sharp, sudden pain in his stomach to see that Uryuu just nods quietly without questioning the last part—_he ought to be too young to know why he shouldn't wear it openly_—but Soken ignores that pain. If Uryuu understands, that makes this easier. If he understands, then Soken hasn't broken anything by saying this. And besides, there's still work to be done.

Then, Uryuu's expression breaks from its solemn frown. His small, thin mouth curls and blooms into a wide, sweet smile, the sort of smile that makes Soken wish that Uryuu was the sort of child who had the chance to smile more often. "Thank you, Grandfather."

_Ah, there's what I wish I could see more often. A child smiling instead of crying._

"Alright. Let's get started."

_I only hope that this will not be the last time for such things. _


	2. quite mundane, actually

**Title**: quite mundane, actually**  
>Timeline<strong>: between chapters 70 and 71 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: Oh, it should be noted that while this collection may have upwards of twenty chapters, it will not get to be nearly as long as _Entropy._**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

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><p>Rain has cut short today's training session, leaving Uryuu and his grandfather to retreat to the latter's home. Uryuu stares out the window moodily, watching the dull silver sheets touch ground, wetting the earth so languidly. It was such a pleasant April day, so mild and breezy, until that same breeze brought with it the rain. It's not even a proper storm, either; just a half-hearted shower without thunder or lightning, scattering puddles all across the yard.<p>

If he's honest, Uryuu is always annoyed when something cuts his training short. He's happier here than at home, doesn't want what little time can be gleaned with his grandfather to be shortened for any reason. If training is over for the day, that means it's time to go home. He's happier here.

"You can go home once the rain stops," Soken tells him from the other end of the kitchen; Uryuu puts down his pencil and tears his eyes away from the workbook to look at him. The old man stares out the window with an oddly abstracted expression on his face. "I don't want you walking home in the wet."

Uryuu nods silently and bites his lip, before deciding not to tell his grandfather that he has an umbrella in his book bag.

_But what if it doesn't stop until late? What if I'm not able to go home until later? I can't get home after Father. I don't want to get in trouble again._

After a moment of gnawing on his lip so intensely that Uryuu's sure he'll taste blood sooner or later, Uryuu casts off his indecision. If he does get in trouble with his father, it certainly won't have been the first time. It won't be anything different from what he's used to. _Just don't try to argue this time. I'll have to walk quickly, and don't argue. He doesn't like it. He gets angry._

As Soken gets a pot out from one of the cabinets—another supper of just rice again, with not even umeboshi to give it some flavor, but Uryuu doesn't think he's ever seen him complain—Uryuu continues on with his homework. If he can't walk on home right now, he may as well finish his homework so that will be one less thing to worry about.

The minutes drag by, the air both warm and somehow just a touch damp—Uryuu expects to see condensation forming on the countertops at any moment, expects to see his papers grow soggy. At about the time Soken puts the pot full of rice and water to soften in on his stovetop, Uryuu looks up, his mind suddenly sparking with curiosity.

"Sensei?"

"Yes, Uryuu?"

"Why do we wear white?"

Maybe the timing is a bit random, but Uryuu has been curious for a while. The impression he gets from his grandfather is that Quincy are supposed to wear white when they hunt. Yes, blue factors into the color scheme as well, but white does seem to be the primary color of choice for hunting Quincy. Uryuu's just curious, that's all. Soken ought to be able to tell him why.

Stirring the rice gently to make sure it doesn't stick or burn, Uryuu can see his grandfather's mouth quirk in a smile. "I was beginning to wonder when we would get to this. Well, why do you think we wear white?"

Uryuu shrugs. "I don't know," he admits honestly. Uryuu stops to reflect that his grandfather is probably the only one he would so willingly admit ignorance to.

"Not a single theory?" Soken's tone is surprisingly light; Uryuu takes this to be a good sign.

Uryuu shakes his head silently. He doesn't see why he should know anything. He's _eight_, after all, it's not like he knows anything about the Quincy that his grandfather doesn't tell him, and to date, Soken never has explained the fashion choices of their people. "I want to know," he states earnestly.

Soken's lined, slightly sagging face twists in a smile again, the time a rueful one. "Alright. If you really are that curious… I do warn you, Uryuu, that you may find the answer to be rather disappointing. It is a rather mundane answer, in honesty."

At the prospect of a story, even what might be a very short one, Uryuu's pale, pinched face lights up and the old man laughs quietly, even if the former doesn't like the sound of the word 'mundane.' _What does that word mean? The way he used it, it sounds like "boring."_

"As I have told you, back when there were more of us, Quincy hunted at night in groups. Since it would often be very dark and fighting Hollows put everything into confusion, they needed to do the best they could to lessen the possibility that they might shoot each other by accident."

Soken pauses for a minute to taste the rice to see if it's warm enough to eat. His face pulls in a hideous grimace when he swallows. "No," comes the mutter to follow. "I think this needs a while longer. Ah, where was I?"

"You were talking about how they didn't want to shoot each other on accident."

"Yes, thank you. As I was saying, the early Quincy preferred to avoid friendly fire, and given that this was long before the advent of fluorescent clothing, they wore white instead. You may derive other meanings, Uryuu, when you're older, but as far as I know, this is the real reason that the Quincy wear white to hunt."

"Oh." Uryuu blinks. "Okay." _Sensei was right; that was a let-down._

Apparently, Uryuu wasn't able to hide the discontentment on his face. Soken's slightly uneven voice holds the twin notes of amusement and sympathy as he remarks, "You look disappointed. Was it really that important?"

_How did he notice? _"No, it's alright!" he exclaims, but his face is burning bright red and even as the words pass beyond his lips, they ring false and fall flat. Uryuu stares down at the table, still feeling as though a fire has been lit beneath his skin—_will we need the rain outside to put it out?_—and wincing under the weight of the reality that he can't even hide his disappointment from his grandfather.

Soken reaches over to pat his shoulder and Uryuu winces a little, pulling away from the contact. Soken remembers and takes his hand away soon after. "It is what you make it, Uryuu."

_I guess so… I just thought it'd be something cooler._


	3. hope is an empty eggshell

**Title**: hope is an empty eggshell**  
>Timeline<strong>: following the flashback in chapter 143 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: This is another scene I thought of right after it was too late to fit it in. Also, I've been reading _House of Leaves _lately; the strangeness of its writing has been seeping into my writing.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

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><p>Cough medicine burns on his throat and tongue going down, and Uryuu's not sure anymore what he's doing, if the thick, gooey syrup is being swallowed for the cold growing in his chest or just because it will let him sleep. It will work for both, doings its best to exterminate the growing branches of phlegm and fever and at the same time give him oblivion within an hour. Right now, Uryuu just wants to sleep. He just wants soft, dreamless sleep, like a warm blanket or solace made tangible, a few hours not to be him.<p>

Being him hasn't been so great lately.

Between the nervousness that comes when he thinks he senses a Hollow attack and wonders if he'll be able to run fast enough, between the frustration of not being able to do anything about those Hollow attacks anymore, between the visceral fear of what happens if and when the others find out (_will they still want me?_), Uryuu can see himself fading in the mirror. When he squints, he thinks he can see the opposite wall through the stretched-too-tight tapestry of his skin.

These days, no longer able to feel energy crackling at his fingertips or the singing of arrows flying from the spirit bow that had a pulse all its own (_no longer able to even recall what that pulse felt like, and that might be the most terrifying thing), _Uryuu questions everything. Himself, his life up to now, what sort of life he's going to carve out of what's left of the old, and if he can carve anything at all.

_I'm not even sixteen. I'm close, but not even sixteen. I never pictured I'd be hitting a dead end now. But what can I do? My life is gone. All the things that gave it meaning are gone, so it might as well be gone. It was ripped from my grasping and desperate fingers—no, I gave it away, and only learned to regret what I did later._

_Ah, that's what I did. Tossed my life to the hands of Fortune like a fool, and when what was supposed to happen happened, I tried to tell myself it was worth it. Well I can tell you now; it's not. It never was._

_And now I'm fading out. _He really is. Uryuu holds his bony, stick-like fingers up a little ways away from his face, and through the skin, the muscle and tissues and the bone he thinks he can see the blue of his irises in the slightly dusty mirror. See-through even to his own eyes. _I guess that's what I'll always be from now on, and I brought it on myself._

_Guess all that's left now is wait to be forgotten, or killed_.

Uryuu wonders if that's the cough syrup talking, making his thoughts jumble in maudlin directions and his skin break apart like centuries-old tissue paper assaulted with a sigh. This is the first time he's taken such a morbid direction, the first time he's lapsed into such abject, contemptible self-pity. It must be self-pity, he reasons, for what else can it be?

(_Self-loathing crosses Uryuu's mind for a fraction of a second. Self-loathing it could be, for on closer inspection there's certainly nothing resembling "pity" in the tone of these morose thoughts. Uryuu dismisses it. This is just another thing he doesn't want to deal with, and if he went there, he thinks that this could be the thought that broke him, the thought that broke the camel's back.)_

Maybe it's all the cough medicine's fault, and when Uryuu wakes up tomorrow morning, he won't be thinking like this anymore and he won't be translucent anymore. Or maybe it will be worse. And maybe it won't matter.

There comes a knocking at the door, and all of this flies away from him as his powers did on a dark street in Seireitei. Uryuu frowns as he sticks his head out of the bathroom and looks at his front door.

The knock has a strange cadence, injected with the hesitation of one who isn't sure whether they're knocking at the right door or not. Frown deepening all the while, Uryuu goes to see who it is, forgetting for once to be cautious.

_It's probably just Yamashita-san, and she's not sure if I'm at home. But what does she want?_

Uryuu goes to open the door, and it's not Yamashita's tired, purple-shadowed eyes that meet his. Rather, the person Uryuu sees lingering barely inches from his door is his classmate, Orihime.

For a moment, Uryuu just stares down at Orihime with his mouth open, unable with his antihistamine-hazed mind to articulate words of any color. She smiles gently up at him, clutching a stack of schoolbooks close to her chest, either just as unable to speak as he or content to let Uryuu speak first.

The last time Uryuu saw Orihime was a sunlight-drenched hour ago on a sidewalk, as she blocked all avenues of exit and pressed again and again with a _"What's wrong?" _and assertions of compassion that mortified Uryuu's flesh like a rusty cheese grater. He's not sure what it was about her honest, openly concerned eyes and promises of understanding that made his throat knot and his stomach turn with shame, but even then the bile was thick and hot and now, seeing her again gives the whole thing a miasmic, dream-like quality.

Finally, hammering all the time the assertion that this is not a dream, Uryuu gives away some words to the air. "Inoue-san, did you follow me here?" he asks, a little more flatly than he would have liked, but illness, grief, and the medicine supposed to take the edge off of both has more or less robbed him of his ability to completely blunt the edge of his sharp tongue. At the same time, a little more raw color enters in to his hollow cheeks. _So rude. So very, _very _rude._

Either Orihime doesn't notice or excuses his rudeness. She shrugs and holds her books closer to her chest, almost like a shield against some unknown foe. "Yes, I did." The smile fades from her face a little. "I wanted to talk to you."

_I gathered that from the conversation we had on the sidewalk_, Uryuu almost says, but cages and kills the words before they can escape the trammel of his lips. Even his drug-fogged mind knows that would be too rude. Instead, Uryuu presses his lips close together before saying, "Inoue-san, I just took cough medicine. It's not going to be too long before it knocks me out."

"It'll be a short talk, then."

"Inoue-san…"

Orihime frowns, a look of indignation coming over her soft face shadowed by the outcropping of the second floor walkway. "Ishida-kun, I came all this way. I had to follow after you in such a way as to keep from being spotted by you and when I got to this complex, I couldn't remember which door you'd gone into, so I had to go knocking around on your neighbors' doors trying to figure out which apartment you lived in—"

"Which can't have gotten you very far, since the majority of them don't even know my name."

"Yes, I was concerned about that." Orihime waves a finger, and the effort involved to make her utterly un-stern face show the facsimile of sternness is frankly laughable. "You really should make an effort to get to know your neighbors better. Anyway, I spent nearly an hour following you home and trying to figure out which apartment was yours. Won't you let me in?"

Uryuu can formulate no argument to this, but he suspects it isn't Orihime's skills of persuasion as much as his own growing fatigue has robbed him of the capacity to argue. He steps aside, and she steps within, a stranger in this land, something new, foreign, alien, so much so that for a moment, this seems as a dream again.

Orihime's eyes are wide and solemn as she drinks in her surroundings, eyes on the futon couch with its crumpled sheets, eyes on the bookcase with its single photo, eyes on the kitchen table (card table), and Uryuu finds himself just a bit nervous, in spite of himself. His apartment is certainly quite clean—almost unnaturally clean, in fact—and devoid of clutter (apart from the futon), but just to look at her, the thought crosses Uryuu's mind that Orihime will judge his sparsely-furnished, almost ascetic home and find it lacking. _Maybe this is why I never have visitors over. It's not like I can really stand criticism anymore; I was spoiled for that a long time ago._

Mercifully, Orihime makes no comment about the state of affairs within Uryuu's apartment. _What was I worried about? She has better manners than to do something like that. _Instead, after a few moments of silence, Orihime remarks, suddenly awkward, "So this is where you live?"

"What exactly did you want to talk about, Inoue-san?" Uryuu can feel the itching in his throat that predicts a coughing fit and suppresses it. It's not a permanent solution, but he doesn't want to start coughing in front of her.

At that, the smile that was already faltering on Orihime's lips drops away entirely. "I'm just worried. Like I said, you've been acting like you don't feel well. You barely ever talk to us anymore; you don't even attend club meetings."

Frankly, Uryuu wasn't aware that he would be missed, though he neglects to say so out loud to Orihime; _there are some bubbles that shouldn't be popped. _And again, though what Orihime has said about him not going to the craft club is not without merit, Uryuu still doesn't see how what Orihime highlights as different about him really is all that different from how he normally behaves. "There's nothing wrong with me," he maintains, the urge to cough growing greater with the words. "I'm perfectly well, Inoue-san."

Orihime is no more fooled by that now than she was on the sidewalk. "You can talk to me," she points out uncertainly, just as she had done then. "We're friends."

"Are we?" A bitter note, sharp like a knife and yet as blunt as the face of a smooth river pebble, rises up like the progress of a parasitic vine in Uryuu's throat. _Or maybe it's just the urge to cough._

At this, there comes another smile on Orihime's lips. This one seems strange, almost forced, and there's something distinctly worrisome about Orihime having to force herself to smile, but Uryuu for the moment ignores it. Everyone has moments when they can't find natural smiles, even someone almost indestructibly cheerful like Orihime.

"Yes, we are. Don't try to deny it," she remarks, uncharacteristically sharply.

Uryuu frowns. "I wasn't going to," he protests weakly, wondering where on Earth _that _came from.

"Well, you just did."

"Oh." _I must be more tired already than I thought._

"Anyway, you're my friend, and I'm yours. It's a reciprocal friendship, Ishida-kun," she says seriously. "A friendship like that is very rare. A lot of the times—" her voice softens, an odd tremulous quality making the words quaver; her eyes droop downwards and the smile shrinks to a twitch "—we vie for equal footing in friendship only to discover that the one whose equal affections we want has a different idea of what our friendship is. We run after that other person for the rest of our lives, neglecting our other relationships, and I don't think that any of us value the reciprocal friendship as much as we should."

_You have no idea how much I value any friendship I have. _Uryuu nearly says that, but doesn't. He often finds himself wanting to say such things when Orihime makes assertions that don't sit well with him. He feels as though he ought to say that, feels as though he ought to tell her that yes, he does value whatever friendship exists between them. What he says instead is utterly inadequate—"I know", spoken in a quiet, almost shamed tone of voice.

They remain silent for the longest time after that. Uryuu can feel lead seeping into his hands and feet, no doubt robbing him of the ability to perform tasks with any deftness. _And as my extremities turn to stone, I'm still standing when I really ought to be lying down._

Then, Uryuu takes it upon himself to banish the silence and return speech to a state of prominence here. "What was it you wanted to say, Inoue-san?" he asks quietly.

Finally, the bout of coughing can no longer be held back, and Uryuu winces as his throat contorts and he coughs, holding a hand over his mouth, eyes watering like all of the ocean is about to spill from their depths.

Orihime frowns. "You really did go to school sick, didn't you?"

There's no use denying it. "Yes." When he removes his hand, Uryuu's face is red, but not from the coughing. _Why couldn't I have just held it in until after she left? _"What did you want to say?" he repeats himself.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Orihime's voice is just as quiet as Uryuu's now. She meets his gaze frankly.

"No," Uryuu answers honestly. He doesn't want to talk about what happened, not to anyone, and not to Orihime, considering that he would have to explain everything about his past to her, and he doesn't think he could do that. He doesn't think he could relive it again, seeing all the images, seeing all the gore, the blood, the disappointment, the bitterness, and the grief, the overwhelming, crushing grief again. Beyond that, it would only be cruel to make her believe that there was a chance that he might confide in her why he behaves the way he does now.

Light catches on her incandescent green hairpins as Orihime nods her head slightly. This time, the smile that appears on her flexible, slightly chapped lips has no ring of falseness or the overt stretching that it showed before. _That's how it always ought to look—no artifice, no strain, just sweet, unaffected sincerity. _"Alright. I respect that. I won't try to get you to talk about it again. But please just remember. I'll always be willing to listen, and whatever it is, I'm sure it will look better eventually."

Her eyes crinkle upwards as her smile widens by just a hair. "No matter how dark things seem, it always gets better. The only way it doesn't is if you don't let things get better, is if you forget that there are people who care about you, and are willing to help you if you let them. Please remember that, Ishida-kun."

Once again—_this happens so much lately_—Uryuu doesn't know what to say. There are no words he can think to say, except something that would probably be totally inappropriate to tell her. _I don't think anyone's ever said something quite like that to me before. _So instead, he just marshals a weak smile.

For one moment, just one moment, but so clear, so shining, the moment of brief clarity in his hazed, beleaguered mind, he finds he can believe her.

-0-0-0-

Orihime bites back a sigh as she shuts the door behind her. She can hear the lock and the deadbolt turning from the other side, thick, heavy clunks. Ishida didn't strike her as the sort to forget to lock his door.

Well, she hadn't expected to get much out of him. Ishida can be incredibly tight-lipped about his personal life, though if the fact that he lives alone is any clue, there's nothing to tell about his family. _Does Ishida-kun even have any family? He lives by himself—there's no way there was more than one bedroom in that apartment, and even if Ishida-kun seems to be sleeping on the couch, I don't see any sign of an adult living there too. I suppose he doesn't have any family. Maybe that's why he never talks about his personal life._

Her lip quirks, but not in a smile. _It's certainly why I don't talk much about life at home. What is there to say? No parents… no brother._

Maybe it's a little selfish, or horribly selfish, and unfair to Ishida, but Orihime has an easier time distracting herself from her own problems if she focuses on the troubles of another. It's easier to forget your own demons when you're trying to help someone expunge their own demons from the annals of thought.

Orihime winces as she steps out from under the awning and into the sunlight. The sun is still high in the sky, but low enough that it shines directly into her eyes. Her thin little hand with its bitten nails goes to shine her eyes—_I wish I had sunglasses, or a visor; wouldn't that look silly, wearing a visor with my school uniform? Might be fun, though. _

_I can't believe Ishida-kun wants to go to bed while it's still light out. _Orihime frowns. _Isn't wanting to sleep all the time or sleep while it's still day outside a symptom of depression? _She shakes that thought from her head. _It's probably just because of the medicine he took; I know I got sleepy the last time I took cough syrup._

Still, she meant what she'd said, and what she said likely applies as much to her own life as it does to Ishida's. Despite everything, Orihime wears something of a smile as she walks on home, taking comfort in what she knows.

This is what Orihime knows: that hope is an empty eggshell, for the bird inside has already flown away.


	4. New All Over

**Title**: New All Over**  
>Timeline<strong>: Between chapters 27 and 28 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: This one never would have fit with _Entropy's _"doom and gloom" tone.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

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><p>At first, Uryuu's nervousness at the fact that the floor is moving beneath his feet and vibrating slightly is nearly palpable. All Ryuuken has to do is give him a cursory glance to see the paleness of the one who sits in the seat next to him. Well, the fact that Uryuu is so pale is probably more due to the fact that he was roused from bed at a little earlier than five in the morning, but Ryuuken does suspect that some of it comes from this as well.<p>

Uryuu soon overcomes that nervousness, though.

Ryuuken is attending a conference in Shinjuku that will go on starting today and lasting until late in the afternoon tomorrow; he'll be away from home longer than he would have liked, but that can't be helped. Since Soken is sick and can't take care of Uryuu for the time he'll be away, Ryuuken has had little choice other than to take his three-year-old with him. The building where the conference is being held has a daycare center; that will have to do for a babysitter, though Ryuuken still doesn't like the idea of handing Uryuu over to a public establishment.

_Oh well. I suppose if he starts going on about ghosts and Hollows they'll just chalk it up to him being a toddler babbling about nothing. The worst I have to worry about is Uryuu being overwhelmed by being around so many people at once. So long as that doesn't happen, it should be fine._

-0-0-0-

"Father, what is this we're in?"

"It's a train, Uryuu," comes the slightly curt response, and Uryuu winces. "It's a vehicle like a car; people ride in them to reach desired destinations."

Though Uryuu has no idea what the word "destinations" means, Ryuuken's explanation is enough for Uryuu to know that a train is like a car, just shaped differently. _They even have their own special roads, _he thinks, remembering vaguely the tracks he saw when Ryuuken lifted him up into the train car shortly after six in the morning.

This is the first time Uryuu has ever been inside a train. In fact, the drive to the train station was the first time he'd ever left Karakura Town. At first, the fact that the floor is vibrating and the sound of wheels hitting the metal rails is more than a little disquieting to Uryuu. He doesn't particularly like unfamiliar noises. But soon after, he's able to remind himself that this really is just a big car.

Uryuu was tired, on the point of sleep, when they arrived at the train station before six. He's not tired anymore. Though it's still dark outside, the lights are bright within the train itself and it's no use trying to sleep. His father's engrossed within a book thick enough to last him all the way to Shinjuku, nose disappearing into the pages. Uryuu doubts he would have gotten anything in the way of talk from him, anyway. Talk, happy talk, to be exact, only comes from his grandfather; from Ryuuken, there are commands and explanations. Not small talk. Uryuu supposes he might do better just to keep silent and sit in the seat he occupies next to his father.

_I wish I could read_, Uryuu thinks to himself, after stealing a glance in Ryuuken's direction. It would pass the time better than just sitting here and staring out the window into a darkness punctuated only by flashing neon lights. He even goes so far as to take a peek at Ryuuken's book, but alas, there are no pictures, only written characters that mean about as much to Uryuu as squiggles drawn in the sand, and he has no idea what's going on in that book.

Not wanting to be scolded by his father, Uryuu is able to sit in his seat and be quiet, simply alternating between staring out the window and casting surreptitious glances his father's way. At least, he's able to do that until dawn peaks its rosy fingers over the horizon dotted with skyscrapers, and Uryuu can properly see what is going on around him.

This isn't like a car at all. They're going so much faster on this train, so fast that if Uryuu blinks he might miss the sight of a whole strip of buildings. And they're so much higher up that Uryuu can see the whole landscape of cities so much more clearly than he would in a car.

The train passes over cars and highways, and little blurs of blue, red, green and white pass by below, like toy cars racing along a track. Sunlight glistens off of buildings seemingly made of glass; they glitter and dazzle as would cut and polished diamond under a lamp.

Hot sunlight pouring through the windows (there's no longer any need for the overhead lights; they turn off as soon as there's enough light), Uryuu no longer wants for entertainment. Now, wide blue eyes turn towards the windows, staring raptly at the sights that go zipping by. He forgets his apprehension of Ryuuken, tugging on his father's sleeve to point at landmarks, at buildings, at gardens and strange sights, asking excitedly what they could be.

Ryuuken will answer, either with an explanation, or a "Don't point, Uryuu. It's rude to point." or "Keep your voice down. You're not supposed to talk loudly on a train." The only time his eyes ever lift from the book he is still in the process is to spy out whatever it is Uryuu's indicating. He never lets those same eyes fall on Uryuu.

At skyscrapers lost in a haze of woolly white clouds, at glittering neon signs, he smiles. At pools that gleam like glass in verdant stretches of green, the oases in concrete deserts, he smiles. That ability to feel joy has not yet been blunted, and there is still so much to see.

However, those eyes that see are drooping fast. For all his excitement at new sights and sounds, at sailing in a barge of steel and glass, sleep can not be denied. He was woken up an hour before he normally would be, something that wouldn't affect someone older but, for a toddler, makes all the difference.

By the time a smiling woman comes around with food on a breakfast cart, Uryuu is asleep with his head pillowed in his father's lap, hot sunlight providing all the blanket needed, lulled by the vibrations of the wheels.

For whatever reason, Ryuuken doesn't push him away.


	5. a stumble

**Title**: a stumble**  
>Timeline<strong>: the day after the events of chapter 123 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: This started out a lot more light-hearted than it got at the end.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>The sweet, green smell of summer (<em>flowers blossoming in the copses, in the fields, green leaves and tall, slender grasses at the peak of life<em>), full of life without a hint of decay, fills Uryuu's nostrils as he steps off the park path. He needs to find a place where he won't be walked in on by nature lovers, by joggers, by people walking their dogs. Hopefully he'll find one here.

After a few moments of struggling to get through trees that feel as though they ought to be a lot bigger, the trees clear, and show a long, narrow stretch of deserted field dotted with light purplish flowers and bathed in sunlight. The field shows no sign of being regularly visited—no litter, no carvings in trees, no toys carelessly left behind by children. This should serve Uryuu's purposes perfectly.

Uryuu settles down in the roots of a huge, gnarled beech tree, the gently swaying leaves casting dappled light over him. With great care, Uryuu lifts an ancient notebook out of the bag he brought with him. Well, it's not really a notebook at all; dry, yellowed papers of uneven length have been stitched haphazardly together, protected by what looks like strips of old, dark brown shoe leather.

Yesterday, Uryuu went to his grandfather's old house, and though going there again came nowhere close to giving him any joy, he has taken away something useful from the journey. Today, after having read over the notes again and again, Uryuu is going to try to start to learn how to perform hirenkyaku.

He stands. _Here goes._

Doing his best to do exactly as the instructions say, Uryuu focuses his energies and…

…And he goes flying about ten feet through the air, arms flailing like a bird that's forgotten how to fly, and lands flat on his back in the grass.

_That went well._

For a few moments, dazed, Uryuu just lies in the grass. The tall, fine grass sways above him, the shorter stalks tickling his cheeks. Swirls of cloud undulate high up in a light, azure sky. Soreness is creeping up on his ribs and spine; there are marks on his body that suspiciously resemble burns.

Then, he gets up, and looks around, wide-eyed, for any possible observers. The only thing more mortifying than having failed so spectacularly on the first attempt to learn hirenkyaku is the thought that someone might have _seen _him fail spectacularly. "Nobody saw that, right?" he mutters.

Content that he is alone, Uryuu goes back to his grandfather's notes and reads them over again. All the while, he can't help but think that this would be a lot easier if he wasn't trying to learn by himself.


	6. not asking much

**Title**: not asking much**  
>Timeline<strong>: the morning after chapter 27 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: I don't think I ever really catalogued Uryuu's take on this subject.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>Even aware that he might not be welcome there if the man's mood is currently intemperate, Uryuu still crawls into his father's bed when he has his nightmares.<p>

Every night like this is the same.

He wakes up with muscles as tense and sore as though he's just run all the way up and down the street without stopping—no mean feat for such a small child—with screaming lungs, and eyes that drip, drip, drip warm, salty tears. The screams and the howls still echo in his ears; the Hollow shrieks of hunger and in the voice of the dying there is a wild, agonized quality that Uryuu can not even begin to name.

It doesn't matter if it is, as Ryuuken said just last night, only a dream. The fear he feels is real, and the suffering of the dying in his dream is the same as the suffering as those who are killed by Hollows in the waking world. Whether awake or dreaming Uryuu has seen an alien form silhouetted against a dusky purple sky. He doesn't know how Ryuuken can say that it's "only a dream."

And when Uryuu wakes up, cold all over and yet still somehow drenched in sweat, the nightmare is not over. His eyes dart all over the shadows of his room, the overactive mind conjuring up a host of monsters to lurk just out of sight, waiting to strike if he lets down his guard. It isn't over, so he goes to the one place within walking distance where he thinks he might be safe.

Uryuu doesn't know if his father is aware of it, and he doesn't know if he appreciates it at all, but Uryuu probably comes as close as he ever does to safe on nights like this when he's curled up with his small hands clutching his father's shirt. That's where he feels safest on nights like these.

There's no telling why it should be so. Father doesn't give him much warmth in dark or sunny hours, and Uryuu doesn't even know if Ryuuken could even fight off a Hollow or not. For all he knows, Ryuuken would be just as helpless against a Hollow as he is. However, when Uryuu hears him breathing softly, sleep taking all of the sharpest edges out of his face, and can feel his heart beating through a cage of flesh, all the danger of the world suddenly slips away, remote, as it should be for the mind of such a young child.

After all, that's what fathers are supposed to provide, a sense of security and safety. Aren't they?

When the sun has once more dissolved the world of shadows and monsters under the bed and in the corners of the mind, Uryuu sees things as they are.

On the occasion that Ryuuken has woken up before dawn and discovered that he is not alone, he's never pushed him away or told him to go back to his own bed. Instead, he would pull him close, but there was never any real warmth there; what Uryuu picked up was the unmistakable sense of possessiveness, but possessiveness is about as far away from warmth and love as anything can be.

Ryuuken gives the distinct sense that he tolerates Uryuu's periodic intrusions into his bed, tolerates them, but does not welcome them. When morning comes, Uryuu is told to go back to his room to get dressed and get ready to go to his grandfather's house. There is not a single glance spared for Uryuu once the sun is up, and this silence contains within it the private denial that the night ever happened.

_I know you need lots and lots of sleep, _Uryuu thinks to himself, sticking his tongue out slightly as he buttons up his shirt; buttons are about as pleasant now as they ever are. _I know I mess it up, and you don't get as much sleep. But I just want to feel safe. When I'm there, I feel safe._

Uryuu just wants to feel safe when he lies down to sleep. Uryuu doesn't ask for the world; he just wants safety. It's not much to ask for. Not nearly as much as Ryuuken wants to make it seem. Isn't it?


	7. A Father's Pride

**Title**: A Father's Pride**  
>Timeline<strong>: the day after chapter 76 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: Just tying up a loose end I never really addressed in _Entropy. _Why would Ryuuken be carrying that pendant?**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p><em>When I left home to live on my own, I never wanted to go back. I didn't think I'd ever be back again. I certainly didn't think I'd be here <em>twice _in the span of two days. _But he is, and Ryuuken has no intention of staying any longer than he absolutely has to.

Ryuuken frowns as he opens the door to his father's now-vacant bedroom. The window has been left open, a little gust of wind making the threadbare quilt rustle. Hot, bright sunlight makes the dull red and yellow checkered patterns seem somehow brighter, newer, almost as they did thirty years ago, when they were new. Of course, a moment later, Ryuuken is given clarity and the sheets are old and moth-eaten again. Still, for just a second, the whole room looked different.

_Now where would he have put it?_

He stares around for a moment, brow furrowing in frustration, wondering why he's even bothering to look for it, before it occurs to Ryuuken to look through what would have been Soken's nightstand when he was still alive. Ryuuken opens the top drawer, and sure enough, sitting on top of a couple of old, dusty books, is what he was looking for.

The metal is cool in his hands as Ryuuken lifts the pentacle pendant out of the drawer, the chain sliding over his fingers. He looks it over with narrowed eyes.

_Soken lifts something out of a drawer in his nightstand. "Pay close attention," he says to his son, serious, almost stern. "I want you to remember what I tell you today."_

_Nine years old, a bit tired—it's been a long day—and frankly already a little bit scornful of anything his father considers important, Ryuuken stares at him, outwardly looking a little bored. All the same, Soken adopts the expression he wears now so rarely that Ryuuken can't help but perk up a little inside._

_From the drawer, Soken pulls an oddly shaped pendant, with five prongs instead of a four-pronged cross, larger than what Ryuuken uses to help channel his energy when he trains with his bow. He bends down on one knee, and puts the pendant in Ryuuken's hands. The pendant is heavy, almost leaden; Ryuuken frowns down at it._

"_When I die," Soken says, very quietly, "this will be yours. You must take it, and keep it. And when you die, it will then be given to your eldest child."_

Ryuuken supposes he should consider himself glad that Soken never wore this pendant on his person or that, if he did, he only did so rarely. He wouldn't have liked to have to take it off of the old man's corpse; he's no grave robber.

Soken told him more about the pentacle pendant later. It once served the purpose of being the property of the current head of the clan, passed down from the clan head to their eldest surviving child. It was never used for combat, and, oddly for any Quincy (one of the few things most Quincy had in common was an emphasis on utility over decoration), was merely ornamental. These days, it's come to symbolize something else, something Ryuuken has tried to extinguish for so long.

_I've never understood how he could be so confident that we were the last; I'll never forget his face when he found out about Sayuri and her family. I mean, they were still alive—at the time, anyway. There could be Quincy in hiding anywhere in the world, and he wouldn't know, because they wouldn't know about us to contact us. How could he be so sure?_

_In the end though, I suppose that he was probably right. Maybe not, but probably._

Ryuuken took the notes that he did from this house yesterday out of curiosity and a sense of foreboding. Though there is nothing to bolster this feeling, and he gets the nasty impression that he's starting, just a little bit, to behave like his father, Ryuuken does feel like some day, he'll need to know the techniques Soken never taught him, even if he doesn't have any inclination of ever living as an active Quincy again.

The pendant, on the other hand, has no practical use. It isn't used to channel spiritual energy (not that Ryuuken needs a pendant for that anymore), and is nothing more than an ornament. The only value that could possibly be attached to it are the monetary and the sentimental; Ryuuken has no need of the former from this thing and no want of the latter. Why should he even think about taking it?

_Why take it? _he wonders pensively. _Why not let it sit here and gather dust, forgotten for the rest of time? It would stay until the house crashed around it, or until looters broke into the house and sold it for cash or had it melted down. The last real relic of the old days before the war, a symbol of destructive pride, my father's pride… It should simply be forgotten. I certainly have no intention of ever giving it to Uryuu. Why should I take it?_

Maybe some questions are simply better left unaddressed, and the motivations for the choices made unexamined. It certainly leads to less headaches than what there would be with close examination. And maybe, sometimes, it's better just to humor the dead, even if the living are the only ones that matter.

_I can only imagine the old man's face if he was to learn I did this._

Ryuuken tucks the pendant in his pocket, and takes his leave of the house, intending never to return. For a moment, he considers closing the window, but decides it might be better just to leave things as they were.


	8. Visions of Rain

**Title**: Visions of Rain**  
>Timeline<strong>: the night before the events of chapter 88 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: I got the idea, alas, too late.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>The sky is dark. Ryuuken supposes it's supposed to be, considering it's eight-thirty at night and there's no moon. Beyond the normal darkness of night, there are thick clouds gathered, no longer threatening to storm but obscuring the moon and the stars. It might rain again tomorrow; it might not. The only light at all is from the street lamp near where he is sitting, and the light reflecting off of smooth black puddles on a nearby sidewalk.<p>

Beside him, Isshin is silent.

They sit on the stoop, alone. Ryuuken smokes a cigarette, sending little coils of blue gray smoke away into the sky, and Isshin never comments, simply staring off into space. His silence is uncharacteristic and unnerving, totally unlike him. He even seems, if Ryuuken is honest with himself, to be smaller than usual, his shoulders slumping slightly. But given the circumstances, Ryuuken can't say he's surprised.

Inside the building, there are many people, dressed in dark clothes and speaking only with the most hushed of voices, and a corpse up for display for the mourners to gawk at.

_Even in death, Masaki is beautiful. She always has been, for all the years Ryuuken has known her, ever since they were children. A lanky child with coltish limbs and windswept hair loose about her shoulders, she was still beautiful, and she is beautiful even when she's dead._

And she still looks so young. They say that only the good die young; I guess they were telling the truth.

_Ryuuken looks at her and frowns. He hadn't even found out Masaki was dead until yesterday when he received an invitation to attend the wake and the funeral, and this all seems so sudden. She lies surrounded by so many bouquets of white and yellow flowers. The cloying incense thick in the air is starting to give him a headache, but he forgets it as he looks at her._

_There is about Masaki the smell of decay. Embalming fluid can not hide it; perhaps it is exacerbating it, or even the source of it to begin with. The make-up, the closed eyes, the serene smile, the crisp, pristine Prussian blue dress, all these things can not hide the faint, musty odor of death and decay, but there is something else. The smell of a Hollow. It is that smell that he has detected; no amount of embalming fluid or perfume can conceal it._

_Ryuuken looks around for Isshin to ask, but when he does look, Isshin is nowhere to be found._

Ryuuken's searches for Isshin led him outside to the stoop, when he happened to glance out a window and found him sitting out there. One look at Isshin's face stopped his questioning in its tracks. There are no tears, no convulsions of agony, just vague, numb blankness, like he can't believe what's happened. _What I want to ask can wait. _Isshin didn't even acknowledge when Ryuuken went to sit by him. It doesn't matter. If Isshin doesn't want to talk, then there is no need for words. Ryuuken was getting uncomfortable in the crowd anyways.

_I can't believe she's dead. _The last Ryuuken heard from her—he doesn't even remember when, but it must have been such a long time ago—Masaki was alive and perfectly healthy, doing well. A happy, healthy, contented mother of three, well-beloved matriarch of the Kurosaki family. Everything seemed to be going right in her life. There was nothing abnormal or dangerous. And now she's dead.

It was a Hollow that did it. There's no other explanation for that smell. How did Masaki even encounter a Hollow? She has only negligible amounts of spiritual energy. As far as Ryuuken knows, she can't even see spirits clearly, can only hear them and occasionally pick out the vague suggestions of an outline of the spirit or Hollow in question. Masaki was hardly a prime target for a Hollow's dinner menu; they wouldn't even look twice at her unless they were desperate.

_I don't understand it. I understand when people like my father, people who go looking for danger, are killed by Hollows. Masaki never went looking for trouble. She wanted nothing more than for there to be no trouble among those she cared about. Masaki was the sort of person who by all rights should have lived to old age. She should have lived long enough to see her children marry and have children of their own._

_I don't understand it._

Ryuuken's eyes glaze over as he remembers another woman who will never see her grandchildren, but like an ill man with the aid of antibiotics, he struggles to shake those thoughts away from them. They will do him no good. He can't stand to think of Sayuri when the situation he's in now is so similar.

_What must be going through his mind?_

Isshin still remains silent, shoulders hunched, hands clasped together. He doesn't even cry; he's just so stunned, so shocked, that no tears can come. To Ryuuken's eyes, he's never looked so remote, so far away, so far from him as he does now.

His dark suit is slightly crumpled, especially around the collar, but no one, not even Masaki's critical parents, would dare point that out within earshot of him. No one has so little respect for grief as to do that. All they have to do is look at his stunned, disbelieving eyes to know better than to try to talk to him.

It looks very much as though Isshin can't believe that his wife is dead. It looks as though he expects this to turn out to be some sort of nasty joke (_but Masaki never made mean-spirited jokes_), that Masaki will jump from her resting place, alive and well, and that everything will be fine. Ryuuken suspects that Isshin would like that very much, that he might cry then, those ridiculously overwrought tears of joy he spouts from time to time. Everyone would probably be crying at that point. Maybe even Ryuuken.

"There was so much rain, you know."

Ryuuken looks over, surprised at his friend, lowering his cigarette from his mouth. Isshin has spoken, and the voice he uses is amazingly light. Well, no. It's not really light at all. It gives that impression from the strange softness that is so unlike him, but Isshin's voice is not light. _He's turned his face away. I wish I could see his face. That might give me some clue._

"It was raining so hard, but I could still hear Ichigo crying. He was practically screaming. I had to rip him away from her, and he just kept on crying. He wouldn't stop. I thought he was going to be sick, he was crying so much."

Lifting his cigarette back to his lips, Ryuuken looks away awkwardly; it's no longer an act of decency to keep his eyes on Isshin. This whole thing is starting to sound horribly familiar, and for a moment, his mind turns to Uryuu. _I wonder if he's in bed yet._

"You know, those guys at the funeral home do good work with restoration. You can't even see the damage anymore."

At that moment, the door opens, letting light spill out onto the backs of the two men like a great river loosed from the constraints of a concrete dam. Isshin doesn't seem to notice, but Ryuuken turns round to see who it is who's come looking for them.

Standing in the doorway is a child, dressed in black, with a shock of orange hair, a horribly pale, wan, stretched-to-breaking face, and eyes so bloodshot that the sclera of those brown eyes look positively crimson. After a moment, Ryuuken recognizes Ichigo.

For a moment, Ryuuken looks at Isshin again, wondering if he'll notice his son standing there. It's obvious who Ichigo's come looking for. When he doesn't, Ryuuken meets the boy's eyes calmly. "Go back to your grandparents, and wait with them." Ichigo hesitates and Ryuuken frowns, but his voice never breaks. "Do it."

That pale face flushes, and Ichigo closes the door behind him.

"I can still see the rain," Isshin whispers, after they are delved in darkness once more. "I can still see it, even now."


	9. Fidelity

**Title**: Fidelity**  
>Timeline<strong>: between chapters 2 and 3 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: When I was first starting out with _Entropy, _I had envisioned it as a much shorter collection as what it eventually became, something evidenced by the author's note in the first chapter of that collection. I think that if I had tried for something so thorough from the beginning, I would have given a little more focus towards this.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>"Do you know, I don't think I've ever seen him leave so quickly," Sayuri murmurs to her child. From the living room window she watches a car pull out of the driveway and snorts. "I think he thinks that if he lingers too long, you'll start wailing again." She shares a smile with Uryuu, who of course likely has no idea what she's talking about, but smiles up into his mother's face. "Now where do you suppose he got that idea from?"<p>

She yawns—the child follows suit, though whether this is a genuine yawn or another imitation of his mother is not clear—and considers going back to bed. It's horridly early to be up, especially considering she hasn't had a full night of sleep in more than a month. The sky is still dark, a little bit of thunder making the windowpanes rattle and lightning occasionally scarring the sky; this is not the sort of morning to be up, really.

Nothing for it, though. Uryuu is wide awake, and likely wouldn't react well to being put back to bed. _Don't suppose I can put him back in his crib just because I want another hour's worth of sleep. I'll just have to try to make up for it tonight._

Sayuri's thoughts are cut off by fussy noises that quickly erupt into hiccupy sobs, Uryuu's pale cheeks going pink, then red. She smiles tiredly and starts to move towards the kitchen; these are not the cries a baby makes when frightened, hurting or wanting attention, but merely hunger. "Alright, alright. You'll have your milk in a minute—and I promise not to burn your mouth with it like your father did."

Uryuu shows no sign of being placated by his mother's reassurances, fussing when he's put in his chair, fussing when the microwave starts to buzz, and quieting down only when moved back to his mother's lap and the teat of the bottle is brought to his mouth. The angry patches of color steadily fade from his cheeks as the bottle is drained of formula, the fussing replaced by soft, cooing sounds. Sayuri smiles slightly, running a hand through the fine, soft fuzz on his head.

It's not so bad being in the house all day if there's something—well, some_one_—important to keep her occupied. Pregnancy was hell, because eventually she got too sick to go to work and all there was to do around the apartment—eventually house—was read and stare out the window with a discomfited frown. A baby, on the other hand, is a full-time task and doesn't give Sayuri the feeling that she's not doing anything useful.

"Hey, easy," she murmurs, noticing Uryuu drinking his formula just a little too greedily. "You'll make yourself sick if you drink it too fast. The last time you ate was three hours ago; you can't be that hungry again already. Can you?"

Hopefully, today will be just another quiet day, with no bouts of fever from either mother or child and no spells of fitful crying from Uryuu. _I don't care what Ryuuken thinks; Uryuu cries all the time, not just when he's holding him. He's normal, in that. He's just not used to being held by his father, that's all._

Feeding is done with. Sayuri grimaces as she lifts her child into one arm and the bottle into another, leaving it in the sink to be cleaned at a later time; _thank God for extras. _Uryuu is a fussy child, she tells herself as she moves base to the living room, where there is a blanket and lacquered wooden blocks. He's fussy when it comes to being held; if he's tired, then unless he can fall asleep, Uryuu does not like to be held. It's the same if he's being held by his mother, his grandfather, or his father.

However, Ryuuken seems to have become convinced that Uryuu's issue is with him. _It's not, _Sayuri thinks, shaking her head as she takes a block handed to her by tiny hands. "Yes, that's right," she murmurs softly. _It's not you, though truthfully if you smoked a little less Uryuu probably wouldn't cry _quite _as much when you pick him up. And if you'd come home any day other than Sunday, or maybe come home before dark for once, you'd have more opportunity to see what Uryuu's like when he's not exhausted._

Sayuri isn't sure what it is with Ryuuken that leads him to assume that Uryuu is difficult for him alone, isn't sure what it is about him that leads him to be so standoffish with Uryuu, so awkward around him, even when Uryuu isn't being fussy. She smiles when playing with her small child, but there is a pensive frown behind it as her thoughts wander.

It could be tiredness, natural reticence and the fact that, quite frankly, Ryuuken is almost totally devoid of anything resembling natural paternal instinct. Sayuri honestly doubts that he will ever be truly "accustomed" to fatherhood. She still remembers, quite vividly, the gob-smacked look on his face when she said she was pregnant. And the catatonia. Never forget the catatonia.

When Sayuri watches Ryuuken pick Uryuu up and hold him, it's like watching a man hold a stranger's child. There's so much awkwardness there, the wariness, the fear that he'll drop the child and that it will break like a porcelain doll. He looks like he's staring down at a stranger's child. He just can't get used to the idea of being a father.

_He'll outgrow it, _Sayuri tells herself, as she has a thousand times now to assuage the misgivings at the back of her mind. _Parenthood isn't an instinct, and it isn't something you just learn overnight. And no matter how many books they sell on it, you can't learn it out of a book either. I can't make any claims to be the perfect mother, and Ryuuken can't make any claims to being a perfect father. We'll just wing it. He'll learn._

In the end, she can't tolerate thoughts of discord and division in the sphere she inhabits, just as she's never been able to tolerate it. That, Sayuri supposes, was the purpose of a constant show of smiling and cheer, even when the situation would have allowed anything but a smile. She smiled constantly, trying to deny reality with a smile, and because she had the nasty suspicion that she would have lost a lot of friends if she had ever let them see what was really going on beneath a curtain of bared teeth.

Of course, it's different now. Living in an empty apartment for a few years had relieved her of the need to smile constantly, and there's no need for it now. "You've no idea," she mutters to Uryuu, who seems to be stacking blocks now, "how much of a relief it is not to have consistently sore jaws. It's actually nice to smile now; that's a lot of a relief too, kid."

And she does smile, watching Uryuu continue to play with blocks, and laughing softly at the crestfallen expression that overcomes his little face when the tower of blocks he had been building topples over. "So build another one," she remarks, trying to hand him another block, but Uryuu just stares at it, brow furrowed, frowning. _Such a serious expression to be wearing, considering you're not even six months old. I hope this doesn't persist. I don't think I could live with _two _men who wear that sort of face so often. Not without completely cracking up._

When the familiar reiatsu and the faint sounds of screaming are picked up from somewhere nearby or far away, Sayuri looks up and frowns, but does not move from her place. _I hunt on Sundays now, when Ryuuken's home. I can't leave him here by himself. _She had barely ever been in the direct care of her parents as a child; they both had to work to support the family, and as a result, Sayuri was often left in the care of her brother when he was home from school, and an elderly relative when he wasn't. _The whole reason I decided not to go back to work until Uryuu was school age was so he would actually be able to remember what I look like. This is more important._

Uryuu starts to yawn and sniffle a bit, the sure signs of tiredness. With a shake of the head, Sayuri lifts him into her arms, and immediately finds herself carrying sleeping dead weight in her arms as she goes to put Uryuu down in his crib. _Just figures. I put out the quilt and the blocks just for you, and you don't even last fifteen minutes before passing out._

She does smile, though, a real, genuine smile unlike the false, glassy smiles she would give sometimes as a child, looking down into an infant's sleeping face.

_I can't wait until you're old enough to talk. If your mother hasn't made herself crazy from talking to herself all day before then, we should have such interesting conversations. Training should be interesting too; I wonder how you'll do with that._

_I hope it's always like this between us. That's how I want it. And if you have nothing else, you will always have my love. Let that be what's in your mind when you go to sleep._


	10. harder to swallow than most

**Title**: harder to swallow than most**  
>Timeline<strong>: An AU of the end of chapter 150 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: I wouldn't normally do this, but I was interested in exploring what would have happened if Uryuu had tried to refuse Ryuuken's offer at first. I might do one more AU (_might_, mind you), but that's it.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

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><p>"There you are. Well?"<p>

Uryuu's heart seems to have clawed its way up into his throat; he can feel it pounding there, impeding the progress of air to clear his lungs. Ryuuken's office at the hospital is kept just as cold as his office at the house where Uryuu used to live, but suddenly this room seems entirely too hot, his skin threatening to go up in flames.

_Come on. Just say it. It'll be the last time you ever have to say anything to him again, if you can just bring yourself to say it._

Uryuu lifts his chin and looks Ryuuken squarely in the eye. "No," he says, clear, level, with an even voice strong enough to carry all the way across the room.

_I won't do it. _He won't, can't do it. The offer Ryuuken makes is enticing, all too alluring, and Uryuu can not deny that he would be happy to have his powers back. He can't deny that he would give almost anything to be a Quincy again, to be of use to his friends, to rip down the wall that has been erected between him and them. But he won't give this.

Ryuuken has offered to—somehow—give him his powers back, but the price he asks for this "favor" is far too high. Uryuu knows he would never be able to pay the price; if he tried, the pain involved would probably make the poorly knitted tapestry of his mind unravel. He knows better than to make a promise he can't keep.

_I'd rather be able to talk to them without my powers than only be able to watch them from afar with my powers. Maybe I'd be left by the wayside and maybe I wouldn't; I don't know. What I do know is that I certainly would never be able to interact with them again if I took your offer. That, at least, is a certainty._

_And Urahara-san made me an offer too, one that doesn't involve keeping me away from literally everyone I care about. I might take him up on that offer. I'm sure that, if he does find some way to give me my powers back, it won't be free, but something tells me that the cost wouldn't be nearly as prohibitive as yours._

The cost is just too high.

"Excuse me?"

There comes a look of uncharacteristic surprise over Ryuuken's hard face, the icy sheen melting form his eyes to be replaced by something else Uryuu doesn't recognize. He looks very much as though the proverbial rug has been pulled out from under him, and though Uryuu supposes he shouldn't, he can't deny that he finds it somewhat satisfying to see Ryuuken at a loss.

"It's exactly as I said," Uryuu tells him, setting his jaw in a defiant way that belies the still-level timbre of his words. "I came here to tell you that I refuse."

He doesn't know why he didn't just take this moment to retreat and go; Uryuu suspects later that he would have been far happier if he had left while Ryuuken was still in shock and unable to put his brain to use. Instead, though, he lingers, waiting to be dismissed as he always does, lingers long enough for Ryuuken to regain his bearings, and to no good end.

"Would you care to tell me why?" Ryuuken asks. There's something not quite so composed about the way he asks, something ragged starting to pull at his normally dry voice and the corners of his mouth.

Uryuu frowns—he wasn't expecting any further questioning, only an injunction to leave—but doesn't see any harm in at least giving an explanation to Ryuuken of why he won't be taking his offer. "You're asking too much," he explains simply, able now, at what he knows to be the last, to withhold the rancor from his voice. "I can't just turn my back on my friends. Yes, I would like to have my powers back, but not like that. Not at that cost. It's just too much to lose," he remarks, shaking his head.

_Please just let me go on that._

Ryuuken rises from his chair, bracing his fingertips on the surface of his clean, clear desk. A muscle in his jaw twitches furiously like some invisible musician strumming a guitar string. "And have you considered what you stand to lose if you do _not _take my offer?"

_What does that mean? _"I don't 'lose' _anything_," Uryuu retorts, some of that control he had exerted over his words starting to slip away. "I don't lose anything by refusing your offer. I stay just the way I am; no powers, but I still have the people I care about. That sounds like a bargain to me."

This does nothing to placate Ryuuken. If anything, the twitching in his jaw just seems to have grown more intense; his eyes flash. "What about your life?" he challenges, a little more of his normally stone cold control slipping away.

"I'll manage," Uryuu retorts, managing words far more confident than what he himself feels. "I don't have to hunt to live."

Yes, he'll manage. He may not thrive—_certainly won't thrive_, he admits reluctantly—but he will manage.

After all, that's how he's always lived. He has moved through life as a ghost wearing a coat of living flesh. Always watching, always standing off to the side, but never participating, never daring to hope that maybe, maybe he has a place here, a niche waiting to be occupied by him.

Well, there was hope lately, when Uryuu could almost picture the niche if he closed his eyes. He's not sure if it's still there anymore, if it's still his, or if he no longer has any right to call it his now that he can't keep up with the others. But he will manage, and he will try. He has to try. For all he knows, he might still be able to hold on to what little place he's managed to hold in this world.

Ryuuken crosses the room, arms folded, coming to a stop barely two feet from his son. Up close, Uryuu can see that the mask of stoicism is badly cracked, something alien roiling all up and down his skin. "I didn't mean like that. If it were just that," he clarifies, sneering contemptuously, "I'd be more than happy to let you go like this for the rest of your life. What about your _life_?" he asks again, putting far more emphasis on the word 'life' than what Uryuu considers necessary.

Unwilling to admit that he has no idea where Ryuuken is going with this, Uryuu just stares blankly at him, mouth creasing in a dark frown.

A spasm passes over Ryuuken's face as Uryuu's silence persists, momentarily gripped with something so vast and dark that Uryuu can't hope to identify it. He doesn't think he's ever seen so much emotion on the man's face before. "You're going to die," he announces finally, the words coming out from his mouth oh-so-clear, but somehow rather garbled as well.

Uryuu's reaction to that is immediate; he jerks his shoulders back, staring incredulously at him. "How do you know Hollows will keep going after me? I should think that I'll just continue to become a less attractive target to them as time goes on. And I wasn't aware you cared all that much," he spits, bile rising in his throat.

_You've always told me I was going to die with such detached disdain. Why should you even ape the sensation of caring now?_

Ryuuken only seems to hear to the point where Uryuu points out that he won't always be a target for Hollows now that he has no powers. He shakes his head vigorously, the light from his desk lamp catching on his glasses like starlight. "I don't mean like that." The words have to be dragged from his throat. Eyes are narrowed, almost shut, and the look coming over Ryuuken's face is highly reminiscent of what Uryuu's used to seeing when he has the worst of his migraines. "I mean that you're dying now."

_What? _"…You're… You're lying," Uryuu stammers, feeling the color drain from his face all the same. _Yes, he's lying. He has to be._

"Uryuu, I—"

"You're lying," Uryuu repeats, white face reconstructing itself into an indignant, even disgusted one. "This is pathetic! Do you honestly think I believe something like that? This is low, even for you!"

"Uryuu." Uryuu had turned to leave, furious that Ryuuken would try something that heavy-handed in an attempt to coerce him into taking his offer, but that hard, stern tone of voice stops him dead in his tracks. When he turns back around, he is met with the sight of flared nostrils and extraordinarily pale skin. "I'm telling the truth," Ryuuken defends himself flatly.

_Yes, I'm so sure. It's not like I have anyone else's word to back you up. Why should I believe you, at all? _"I don't believe you," Uryuu fires back. "Why should I?"

Ryuuken shakes his head again, lifting his fingers to his forehead as if to rub away pain. "You used the Sanrei Glove—yes, I know about that," he comments dryly upon seeing the look of stunned shock on Uryuu's face. "There's little else that can produce such symptoms in a Quincy. You used the Sanrei Glove—I don't care why, only that you have used it. And you have not been well since you removed it, and lost your powers, have you?"

Unable to bring himself to admit that, no, he hasn't been physically well since his confrontation with Mayuri (_instead nearly constantly ill, and whether feverish or not, nothing he does seems to be capable of making him feel like himself_), Uryuu remains silent. Ryuuken seems to take this silence as all the confirmation he needs.

"No, you haven't, have you? You've been sick. And, however slowly, it has been getting progressively worse since you returned from the Soul Society." Uryuu opens his mouth to say something and Ryuuken cuts him off. "Don't try to deny it. You haven't been getting any better. And you won't. You will get sicker and sicker as your spiritual energy continues to fade. Eventually, you'll either drop dead, or it will get to the point that you can no longer find the strength to move. If you're not found, you'll probably die of dehydration."

All throughout Ryuuken's rundown of what he claims is going to happen to Uryuu in the future, Uryuu finds himself examining his face, searching it for anything resembling truth. What he does see is an odd, uncharacteristic cracking there, and through all of it, through all of the dry words and narrowed eyes, he gets no sign of enjoyment in Ryuuken's face, nor in his voice. For a moment, just a moment, Uryuu wonders if he could be telling the truth.

_Maybe—No, that can't be it. He can't be telling the truth. He… He just can't be. Why would Grandfather give me something that would kill me? Why? No. There has to be another reason he's saying this. But why?_

Uryuu narrows his eyes. "Alright. Say I believe you. Urahara-san has also made an offer to help me regain my powers. What's stopping me from going to him instead?"

For the first time during this whole conversation, something like alarm passes over Ryuuken's face. "Urahara-san does not know how to reverse the effects of the Sanrei Glove!" he snaps, voice cracking definitively. It's clear in the way his skin pulls ghastly tight and his eyes flash that he has no desire to see Uryuu make a deal of any sort with Urahara.

"He said he could find a way," Uryuu needles, frowning intently. "And _he _didn't attach a price tag to his offer, unlike _some _people."

Ryuuken snarls, lip pulling so far from his teeth that it threatens to break entirely. "It could be months before Urahara-san figures out how to reverse the effects, if he finds a way at all. You could be dead by then, or too far gone for him to help you. I can reverse the effects tonight. And you are a fool if you think that Urahara-san will simply _give _you your powers back." He sighs, and lowers his voice, making a conscious effort to calm himself. "You don't want to get in with him."

At this, Uryuu turns his gaze away from him, going over his thoughts and biting his lip. The dying sun spills carmine light all over the glossy covers of the books on Ryuuken's bookshelves; the glare hurts his eyes.

He does want his powers back, even if he cringes at the cost, and he has two options, Urahara, or Ryuuken. In Ryuuken, he has a known quantity, and assurances that yes, the man knows what he's doing. Ryuuken attaches a terrible price to his help, but Uryuu at least has Ryuuken's claims that he knows exactly how to reverse the effects of the Sanrei Glove, and that he can do it now.

Urahara… Uryuu doesn't know Urahara very well, and can't say that he trusts him any more than he currently trusts Ryuuken; less, actually, and that's saying something. He knows Ryuuken is right on both scores. Urahara doesn't currently know what to do, and if and when he knows what to do, his help won't come cheap. Urahara is not a known quantity. Uryuu doesn't know what to expect him to ask as payment, but the price will likely be steep, just as Ryuuken's price is steep.

_The devil I know, or the devil I don't. And if Ryuuken is telling the truth…_

Ryuuken takes advantage of Uryuu's silence. Brow furrowed, a heavy hand rests on Uryuu's shoulder. "Your grandfather never told you what happened to Quincy who used the Sanrei Glove, only to remove them. They died. They all died. What happened to them will happen to you, is happening to you, only much more slowly, if you don't come with me."

There is a low, but undeniable thrum of urgency to his voice. Odd, that. Uryuu's heard it before, but there was a point in his life when he stopped hearing it, and never expected to hear it again. He wanted to hear it, oh yes; how he wanted to hear it.

It's the sound of worry in Ryuuken's voice, when talking to him, that he's missed so much. He wanted to hear it again, so badly. But not like this.

This time, being met with silence only seems to heighten whatever sense of urgency there is within Ryuuken's mind. "When have I ever lied to you about your health?" he demands, voice cracking again. That voice sounds as raw as it would after bouts of weeping, or too long, far too long, without any water to wet it. Maybe it's just the decades-long cigarette habit talking; maybe it's something else. But he seems almost angry as well. "When have I ever been anything but honest in that regard? Uryuu, you are going to die eventually, whether in a Hollow's belly or from the energy drain inflicted by the Sanrei Glove. You will die, and soon, unless you come with me.

"Yes, I have said that you will die if you keep up your habit of stalking every Hollow that crosses your path. That's the truth as well; it's how most of our people ended up dead to begin with, whether directly or not. But if you honestly think I _want _you to die…" Ryuuken grits his teeth and looks away "…then more fool me."

Uryuu just stares down at the carpeting, his mouth locked tight. His tongue is dry and he feels unbearably hot in this suddenly close, cramped room—_shouldn't it be so much spacious in here than this? _He doesn't know what to say, what to think. He doesn't know if Ryuuken's telling the truth or not, but there is just the right ring of desperation to the man's voice that makes him think that he might be.

_I don't want to believe that Grandfather would have given me something that would kill me. How can I ever think of him the same way if I believe what Ryuuken's saying now? How can I ever look at anything the same way again?_

It doesn't matter either way, Uryuu realizes, as he finally tears his gaze away from the floor and confronts Ryuuken's stare. Whether he's telling the truth or not, it doesn't matter, because this was never about choice.

"Alright," he whispers, "I'll come." Uryuu's dark blue gaze hardens. "But _not_ because I think you're telling the truth." He swallows hard, struggling to banish the lump that swells right where the air passage needs oxygen for him to breathe. "You were never going to let me leave here without saying 'yes', were you?"

And this time, it is Ryuuken's silence that fills the air with an answer, in the red evening.


	11. things you never said

**Title**: things you never said**  
>Timeline<strong>: between chapters 58 and 59 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: Not much to say on this one.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

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><p>Sunlight spills like so many waterfalls hatched from a drinking cup on this clement May morning. The smooth surface of the kitchen table gleams, and the rims of a cereal bowl, coffee mug and glass cup all sparkle as though studded with quartz. Frankly, the whole situation conspires to be just a little contrived; for a little while, Ryuuken is struck with the urge to search his kitchen for the Disney logo.<p>

It's not quite seven in the morning, and Ryuuken supposes he's going to have to leave soon. He doesn't need to be at work quite as early as usual this morning, but the traffic's not going to get any better if he waits. _I've no desire to end up being an hour late to work because of a traffic jam._

He'll go. Just as soon as he finishes this cup of coffee. Right as soon as he finishes his coffee.

Uryuu is up far earlier than he usually would be, considering it happens to be Saturday and he doesn't have to be up to go to school today. Given his age and the amount of sleep he still needs, Ryuuken wouldn't have been surprised if he had slept in until nine. Still in his powder blue, washed-out pajamas, Uryuu eats his cereal in silence, eyes kept fixed on the bowl. The only sign of any tension is the fact that his knuckles are absolutely white from gripping the spoon.

_He manages to seem so calm, until you notice that tense hand of his. Uryuu seems to remember last night as well._

Uryuu came home late again last night, the descending darkness chasing him inside, and what passed between them still lingers now. The words are retained by the secretive walls, still whispered by any liquid that can boast a reflection. Those who call themselves human remember it as well.

"_I have told you over and over not to go see the old man! I don't see what is so difficult to comprehend about that!"_

This begs the question, Ryuuken reflects, of just what Uryuu does on his Saturdays when he's alone in the house all day. Presumably he does his weekend homework on time, since Ryuuken has never received notifications from Uryuu's teachers to the otherwise. _I suppose he could hide any notes his teacher had him take home with him. But if the teacher didn't get notes back with my signature on it—and let's assume that Uryuu _can't _forge my signature—there would eventually be a phone call made here. So let's assume he has been doing his homework._

Ryuuken is willing to admit that, where schoolwork is concerned, Uryuu is relatively bright. He's never brought home any horrible grades, at least not to Ryuuken's knowledge, and the habit is likely to have persisted. For all his shortcomings, Uryuu does seem to be quite the budding perfectionist.

However, that begs another question. If Uryuu finishes his homework long before the weekend is out, what does he do with the rest of his spare time?

Considering that only one real option crosses Ryuuken's mind, he momentarily contemplates telling Uryuu to get dressed and come with him. He considers dragging his son with him to work every Saturday until the day comes when Soken is dead, just to minimize the amount of time Uryuu can spend learning dangerous arts from his grandfather.

But that won't work. The hospital won't look particularly kindly on Ryuuken bringing his six-year-old with him to work every weekend, and Ryuuken can't keep an eye on him while he's there. It's hard to admit to, but the truth of the matter is that Ryuuken simply can't keep tabs of Uryuu every moment of the day. So long as the boy manages to get to his grandfather's house and back without Ryuuken noticing, there really is nothing that can be done. Nothing that Ryuuken's willing to do.

_It can't be helped. It's best not to dwell on what I can't even be sure of—but I will continue to intervene when it is clear that Uryuu has been to see him. This must stop._

Ryuuken takes the last gulp of his coffee and goes to rinse out the cup in the sink and dump the remains of the coffee pot's contents—it doesn't do well to let it sit. _I need to leave. The traffic's certainly not going to get any better as the morning wears on. _He examines the clock on the wall for one final confirmation, and starts to head towards the door.

Perhaps surprisingly or perhaps not, Uryuu gets out of his chair and follows a few steps behind, silent. His feet make no sound against the close-knit carpeting on the living room floor. Ryuuken can practically feel the boy's dark eyes burning holes into his back as he makes his progress towards the door.

As Ryuuken steps out the front door, wincing at the sunlight—_should it really be this bright this early in the morning?_—Uryuu reaches forward, small hands latching on the inside doorknob. Ryuuken has impressed upon Uryuu before the need to lock the door immediately after he finds himself alone in the house; this is only a product, one of the few welcome ones, of the way Uryuu has chosen to learn from what he is told.

Ryuuken doesn't expect Uryuu to say anything to him as he leaves. After all, he's rarely awake at all early enough on Saturday mornings to see his father off, and if he is, he never speaks. He just watches, silent and trying to project the impression of being indifferent, his eyes either wide open or half-shut with sleep, drooping and threatening to seal themselves up again.

However, Uryuu's never been big on doing what's expected of him, and lately, he does seem to be taking some pleasure in acting in uncharacteristic ways.

"Have… Have a nice day." Ryuuken raises both eyebrows as he hears that faint, hesitant voice. Uryuu's eyes are fixed on his feet; personally, Ryuuken doesn't know what could possibly be so fascinating about those two, small feet. "I… I love you."

Uryuu never fails to take Ryuuken by surprise when he says something like this; it's one of the few ways Uryuu can manage to catch Ryuuken completely off guard anymore. An odd thing, that, though Uryuu rarely makes any sort of declaration of love or affection, it always seems to happen some time soon after they've been fighting.

There's never a clear-cut reason for why Uryuu will say it. It could be impulse, it could always be impulse, but that answer is too simple, and too easy. Ryuuken has long since learned to distrust simple, easy answers; he looks for another solution to this mystery.

Maybe, after they've argued, after there has been another scolding doled out, Uryuu looks for confirmation that he really is welcome here. Maybe he's trying to get a sign from his father that he doesn't consider his presence a nuisance, or an unwelcome intrusion. If that's the case, Ryuuken can't help but scoff at his child's foolishness. Small children really do blow everything out of proportion; they get in trouble with their parents and suddenly they think their parents hate them. _Painfully melodramatic._

Whatever the reason Uryuu occasionally chooses to tell his father that he loves him, it does not change the fact that he has said it, and that this seems to charge Ryuuken with the task of responding somehow. And no, Ryuuken does not for a moment consider that Uryuu's words might be insincere. He knows Uryuu too well to assume that, knows that he has little gift for deception, and knows that Uryuu does not like to lie. He means what he says.

This is the part, typically, where Ryuuken stops cold, and today is no exception. He stops in the doorway, the living day in front of him, his son and the cool, stagnant, dead house to his back. Though he doesn't cast his eyes towards Uryuu, there can be no doubt about the sort of expression the boy wears: tentative, regretting having spoken, and oh so doubtful, but somehow so hopeful at the same time.

_You have to hand it to the boy; he does know how to put a man on the spot._

Ryuuken grits his teeth and grimaces, as he always does. There is a question, badly hidden, in this simple statement. It is such a desperate question, such a pained, even anguished question, and he has never given Uryuu a straight answer to it. He doesn't dare to question why; he doesn't think he would like the answer very much. At the same time, he stubbornly tells himself that it doesn't matter. _The duty of a father is to make sure that their child has enough to eat and a roof over their head, not to love. Love may be desired, but it is not necessary. People don't die for lack of love. They die for lack of food, lack of water, lack of shelter._

"I will be back tonight," Ryuuken tells his son shortly. "Keep the door locked."

Off he goes, heading towards the car, heading towards another day that, while it might not be predictable, at least has a routine he can take comfort from and a routine that can take his mind off of everything that creates chaos. And as Ryuuken leaves, he doesn't look at Uryuu.

He never can, after moments like this.


	12. your mother's mirror

**Title**: your mother's mirror**  
>Timeline<strong>: just after chapter 62 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: Once again, not much to say here.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

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><p>He is left by himself this Saturday, finding nothing but solitude within cool, whispering walls, but Uryuu doesn't mind that. There is more peace to be found alone in this house than there ever will be with the company of his father; even if there is no joy to be found in this discovery, there it is. There is another place where he could go, a place where he doesn't feel like he's going to be devoured by silence at any moment, but inclement weather keeps him where he is. Wind batters against the window pans, rain pounding on the roof, and Uryuu has little choice but to stay where he is.<p>

In the absence of any homework, Uryuu has again ventured deep into the books of his father's office. He's already read all of the books in his room, and it's not like he can go borrow new ones from the library while it's still storming. He _needs _something to do. The books provide some measure of distraction.

Uryuu pulls from the shelf a book about bone health (_Osteoporosis and Other Bone Disorders_), all the while trying to figure out where he had pulled the last book, a surprisingly thin tome entitled _The Benefits of Traditional Medicines_, from. Much in the manner of a library, Ryuuken organizes the books alphabetically by the author's last name; if Uryuu doesn't put the book back where it's supposed to be, Ryuuken will eventually find out, and he'll know Uryuu's been in here while he was gone.

To be honest though, Uryuu doesn't care about that quite as much as he used to. If he is still so concerned with putting the book in its proper place, that's due to his hatred of anything being out of place in his world; getting in trouble with Ryuuken doesn't matter quite as much as it used to, not over something like this, anyways. He's not entirely sure why he should care about staying out of trouble anymore.

Once Uryuu puts the book away, he settles down on the floor with the one he pulled from the shelf. There is an eerie bluish light in the places where the warm, golden glow of the desk lamp doesn't touch; Uryuu's pallid skin is bathed blue in this rainy light.

_I hope Grandfather got that hole in the roof fixed. _Uryuu remembers the small hole there had been in the roof of Soken's house, a hole that leaked the pale blue sky, and winces at the thought of his elderly grandfather mounting a latter with hammer, nails and wood. He's sure Soken didn't call someone else for help—too little money and far too much pride for that. _I hope he's alright._

The minutes carry on, the rain continues to stream in great, translucent rivers down the window, and Uryuu scans the pages, his interest waning with each paragraph. It's a nice book, it really is, but it just drones on, dry words with no spark of life at all. This book was never meant to entertain, and it has ceased to hold his attention.

_I'll just have to find another, with better writing, _Uryuu muses as he puts that book back on the shelf, and starts to peruse the shelves for another title that catches his eye.

_There has to be something here worth reading. There must be a thousand books in here; there must be something nice to read in all of that. If only I knew where to find a book like that…_

As he continues to go on searching, small fingers disturbing the fine layer of dust coating some of the books, Uryuu starts to wonder more and more if he shouldn't just try to find something else to do. _But what is there? I haven't got coloring books or puzzles like the other kids do; there's just these books. _Uryuu shakes his head, biting his lip. He can't go anywhere in this weather—a crash of thunder makes the windowpanes rattle as if to make sure he remembers that—and there's really nothing to do in this house but read. He'll just have to keep looking.

Continuing on his search, Uryuu's eyes eventually fall somewhere other than on a book. They are drawn, like two asteroids caught in the orbit of a great, blinding star, to the picture in its frame, sitting out on his father's desk. Here is something that never fails to be a source of discord.

Uryuu sighs as he breaks off his search, approaching the picture. He doesn't know why he ever bothers to look at the photo anymore, let alone pick it up like he does now to examine it more closely. The image has been burned into his head; he doesn't see how he could ever forget it. He'll never forget that face, even if he doesn't remember her.

And this image is just the same; his mother looks just the same now as she ever does, an unmoving moment of time forever captured, static, unchanging. A photo never changes, a photo's image never gathers age upon itself, and a photo can offer no comfort, at least not to Uryuu. There is nothing flat and static that can give him comfort.

There is no connection that can be made between this photograph and "Mother." The idea of having a mother whose face and voice Uryuu can remember is so utterly foreign. Thoughts of being held in warm arms, hearing the gentle thud of a heartbeat, nostrils filled with the smell of home, are thoughts rooted firmly in fantasy, with no basis in fact. Uryuu does not dare give audience to those wistful thoughts. Life is difficult enough to go through without fantasies making it so much more painful by comparison.

No. All Uryuu sees is a picture of a woman he calls "Mother," but seems worlds away. She has pale, clear, flawless skin, shiny black hair barely brushing past her chin, and piercing blue eyes. She looks so friendly, so approachable with that full-bodied smile, but Uryuu wouldn't know, for he has never known her. This woman is gone, long gone, and Uryuu will never know her, never have a word from her lips to carry with him. There is no proof that she ever existed, except for this picture, and Uryuu himself. She is gone.

But her shadow lingers still.

Uryuu swallows hard and puts the picture back, forcing himself to tear his eyes away. She is dead, but still lives on, to no good end for those who breathe. Bile rises in his throat to recall the way "Mother" lives. "Mother" lives, because with only a few small differences, he wears her face.

_Here I am, competing with one of the dead. Here I am, competing with a ghost for attention, and losing. No, wait, I'm not losing. I've already lost, and I'm more of a shadow to him than she is._

He wishes it could be different. He wishes he didn't look like her, knowing that though he would not be completely happy, he would be far happier than he is now. If Uryuu could choose, he would not look like his mother, his father, or anyone else. If he could choose, Uryuu would choose to look like no one in particular. The ideal in this situation would be to not have his appearance tied to the memory of anyone important. But wishing doesn't solve anything, and it is utterly fruitless. As it is, he can barely separate the threads of him from her own lost life.

Uryuu is standing in the darkness of a dead woman's shadow, always seen as an extension of her, or an unwelcome reminder of her existence, or nothing more than a shoddy, inadequate imitation of her. This is how he's seen by the one he wants most to see him as himself, and no matter how hard he tries, he still can't get his father to see him as himself.

_I don't know why it has to be like this. Why do I always have to fight for my face?_

It hurts. It hurts to know that he has to fight tooth and nail to be able to call his face his own. Establishing his own identity amidst the mess of grief and memory and a man who refuses to look at his son without seeing his wife is nearly impossible, and every step Uryuu takes, whether forwards or backwards, digs glass shards deeper into his skin. The pain is nearly unbearable.

It hurts, and that hurt has spawned resentment and dull anger that smolders like an ember that ought to be dead, but clings to life out of the stubborn urge to prove something. It doesn't matter if Ryuuken is angered or pained by Uryuu's resemblance to his mother; Uryuu just wants his father to think of him as Uryuu, not as his mother's son, not as the pale shadow of her.

_Don't mix me up with her! _comes a thought in anger. Eventually, he's going to say that. Eventually, he's going to lose his temper, and shout, scream, or maybe just say it. The outpouring will be as a flood on loose soil, washing away anything that could have healed the yawning chasm between them. That reality, becoming with each day harder to ignore, frightens Uryuu like nothing else can.

For now, he stews in silence and bites his lip. There are so many things he wishes he could say, so many things he wishes were different, but he has no way to articulate his desperate wishes, and wishing still gets Uryuu nowhere. He simply sits in silence, sits alone in the dark, listening to the rain, and tries to tell himself that he's not a shadow.


	13. but wishing only wounds the heart

**Title**: but wishing only wounds the heart**  
>Timeline<strong>: between chapters 88 and 89 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: I will admit that I also have something of a fascination with Tanabata.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

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><p>July seventh is hot and bright, no clouds anywhere, just endless stretches of dazzling aquamarine sky and a merciless sun. That same sun sends its rays through a row of generous windows, making every reflective surface seem as though on fire. Uryuu winces, struggling to adjust his weak eyes to the light.<p>

"Now, you've all celebrated Tanabata before, haven't you?" the teacher asks, a wide, maternal smile gracing her round face.

At an eager chorus of "Yes"'s, rung out by two dozen (minus one) shining faces, she giggles, bringing up her hand so her teeth won't show. If there's one thing Uryuu has noticed about his teacher this year, it's that she seems utterly possessed of an indestructible cheer. If someone could find a way to bottle that cheer, the school would have enough power to leave the lights on for a straight year. "Oh my, I see you do. Well then, just come up here to get your tanzaku and make your wish."

For all the eagerness with which the class (minus one) clamors around Matsuda-sensei's desk, one would think she was giving away free ice cream. "When you're done," she calls, struggling to make her voice heard, "go hang up your tanzaku on the branch in the lobby, but come straight back!"

After a few moments of eyeing the throng warily, Uryuu gets up from his desk to get a slip of paper for himself. It wouldn't do to do or not do anything that would make him stand out. These happy, beaming students can morph into savage wolves at any moment, if given the change to sniff out abnormality. It's best not to stand out.

Uryuu accepts a piece of tanzaku paper the color of celery, maybe a little brighter, and goes back to his desk. Though a pencil is poised in his fingers, he doesn't write. Instead, he stares down at the paper, brow furrowed.

Uryuu has never understood why people make wishes on Tanabata. The original legend was supposed to be about a princess and a cowherd who could only be together this one day out of the whole year; Uryuu doesn't know where people get wish-making from that. It's a bit like Christmas; Uryuu's pretty sure it's supposed to be some sort of religious holiday, but people celebrate it even though they're not religious (or they are religious, but not Christians), and people exchange gifts instead of treating it like a religious holiday. It's all very odd.

Now, just because Uryuu doesn't understand the wish-making, that doesn't mean he dislikes Tanabata itself. There's something about the legend of the princess and her cowherd, separated by the heavens, that appeals to a sense of loneliness in him, that touches on the pain of not being able to see the dearest of loved ones. Frankly, Uryuu can't see how anyone could ever dislike that legend.

There is a beautiful cut of bamboo in the school lobby that will likely look even lovelier weighted down with brightly-colored tanzaku, wishes scribbled all over. Walking home will reveal still more bamboo branches in the yards, tanzaku in all shades swaying gently in the breeze. Banner and lanterns are strung, booths set up, and delicious smells permeate the muggy evening air. Like most, Uryuu does have an appreciation of aesthetic beauty. He does appreciate Tanabata for its beauty.

And now, Uryuu has a slip of celery green tanzaku sitting on his desk and a pencil in his fingers, but he does not write.

Uryuu can imagine what his classmates have written. They'll wish for better grades, to make a sports team the next time there's try-outs, wish that their diet will be successful. They'll wish for a windfall, wish that a certain someone will like them, wish to go on a nice trip in a few weeks when summer vacation starts. Happy wishes, simple wishes. Okay, maybe some of them are a little more serious, but (fortunately) few of the students make their wishes about a parent dying of cancer or a lost house. Very few of the students here have things like that to worry about.

All of the other students have gone to hang their tanzaku up on the bamboo branch. It's just Uryuu and the teacher in the classroom now. What does Uryuu have to wish about?

Well, to be honest, there are a lot of things Uryuu could wish about.

He could wish to have the courage of his convictions, enough so to put aside his fear of his father's disapproval and hunt Hollows like a Quincy is supposed to. It would take so much shame from his shoulders to just have the courage necessary to live up to the souls of so many dead Quincy, even if grief would still be there. It would mean so much to be able to live honestly.

He could wish that his grandfather was still alive, or his mother. If Uryuu had to choose, he suspects it would be the former; Soken has been dead for a little less than a year now, and Uryuu knows he would take far more comfort in the company of someone he actually remembers, if he could bring someone back from the dead. Having "Mother" would be nice, but the pain from his grandfather's death is far more harrowing than not having his mother ever will be.

If he picked up the pencil and chose to write, Uryuu could wish for friends. Friends could be a balm to the utter barrenness of his life. People he could talk to, people he could rely on, people who would offer some sort of understanding, that would be a dream come true to one who wanders through life alone.

He could wish that his father would come home earlier in the day, that they might be able to spend some time together that didn't consist of chastisement and arguing. On that note, Uryuu could wish that he and his father would get along better. Maybe he could handle the hours Ryuuken kept and how few of them were spent at home if they could just get along without trying to bite each other's heads off. Or maybe, he would wish that Ryuuken would treat him as a father does his son.

There are so many things he could wish for, and if Uryuu could bring himself to write, he would blacken the tanzaku with words, blacken it so completely that no one would ever be able to tell that it had once been green.

But he doesn't. He can't.

No amount of wishing will bring back the dead, nor will it be enough to change Ryuuken's nature or be enough to spark the sort of massive changes in Uryuu that would be needed for others to think of him as someone they'd want as a friend. The dead stay dead, Ryuuken is too stubborn to ever change his outlook on life or Uryuu, and Uryuu doesn't know the first thing about making friends, can barely hold a conversation for a minute without bolting or falling flat. All the wishes and all the prayers in the world won't change that.

So Uryuu won't write anything on the tanzaku, won't wish for anything this year. He's made wishes before, as much as he tries not to. Not just on Tanabata, but at any time of the year. Even though he knew that these wishes wouldn't come true, the mere act of wishing was enough to raise hope in his heart. The thing is, though, that once reality stepped back in to remind him of what the truth was, the let-down just hurt so much more than it would have, had Uryuu not hoped. It's not worth the pain sure to come later to make a wish now.

Laying his pencil down, Uryuu settles in and prepares for what he knows will be a long wait until class can start again. The silence is startling in a place where there is normally so much sound and life. Suddenly, this hot room with its stale air seems something like a tomb.

Uryuu frowns pensively, narrowing his eyes. His grandfather took him to a Tanabata festival once, when he was very small. He doesn't really remember much about it anymore—he can't have been any older than four when they went. Uryuu does remember fireworks and having eaten tempura for the first time in his life. He remembers having felt warm and happy and safe, and remembers having fallen asleep before they got home, only to be awake on the couch in his grandfather's house.

When his father gets home tonight, Uryuu thinks he'll ask him if they can go. Uryuu knows that Ryuuken will probably say no, given that today is Wednesday and they both have places to be tomorrow, and that he probably won't consent to letting Uryuu go off on his own, but he'll ask anyways.

And if Ryuuken does say no, Uryuu will just stop off somewhere tomorrow after school. The festivals will still be going on tomorrow. He'd like to go with someone else, but going alone will still be better than not going at all.

A soft sigh from the right startles Uryuu and he looks up, surprised to realize that he wasn't the only student who didn't go to hang up their tanzaku on the bamboo branch.

Sitting three rows to the right and two desks closer to the front of the room than Uryuu is another boy. He stares down at his tanzaku, so bright a yellow that it must hurt to look at from so close, with a bitter, thwarted expression on his face. The tanzaku itself is blank; there isn't even a pencil out on the desk. Here is another who grabbed a tanzaku before remembering that he couldn't bear to wish.

Uryuu's brow draws up as he stares surreptitiously at the boy. If he wanted a friend, it seems that there's someone else here who's realized just how futile it is to wish. That gives them something in common. He could talk to him…

_No. _Something about the boy's face, pained, bitter, and somehow angry as well, stops Uryuu dead in his tracks. He's seen that look before, someone who's angry at others, himself, and the whole world, and more content to stew in pain rather than try to exorcise it. He knows that face; he's seen it many times before. He can't be sure of the sort of welcome he'd get here. _Look at his face. If you tried to talk to him about it, you, somebody who doesn't know him, he'd just get mad. And what do you know about talking to people anyway?_

Apparently Uryuu wasn't the only one who heard that sigh, because Matsuda-sensei, looking up from her desk, rises out of her chair and goes over to the boy's desk. "You're not going to write anything?"

"No," the boy mutters, staring at a patch of wall to the side of Matsuda-sensei's head.

"Well, I'll just take this back up. It can be saved until next year."

Matsuda-sensei takes the yellow tanzaku back from the boy and, as if noticing Uryuu for the first time, wanders towards his desk as well.

"You too, huh?"

Uryuu nods and blushes, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the desk. "Yes, ma'am."

She plucks up Uryuu's green tanzaku and smiles wistfully. "What sort of life you both must have, to not have any need for wishing."

The boy scowls and mutters something incoherent. Uryuu bites his lip, and says nothing.


	14. Black Sheep

**Title**: Black Sheep**  
>Timeline<strong>: any time between chapters 147 and 172 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: Just a short, kind of silly little drabble.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

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><p>It occurs to Uryuu early one morning while he's eating a boiled egg, listening to someone struggling to start their car outside. His mind often wanders like this in the mornings, sifting through the ramshackle constructs of his memory, though normally his mind would be wandering in the direction of school. This is something decidedly different.<p>

Ryuuken's recent revelation of having Quincy powers after all was certainly shocking. There was the frustration, of course, at seeing that Ryuuken had what Uryuu so desperately wanted back, yet did not appreciate at all. _Want to trade? _he had thought sarcastically when Ryuuken made it clear just how little he wanted his powers. _If you don't want your powers, I'll gladly take them off your hands._

There was the anger too, at having been lied to all his life and having been denied even this level of connection with the man. But now, Uryuu is thinking on something else.

Ryuuken has, within Uryuu's lifetime, always rejected the beliefs espoused by his father and his son. Back when Uryuu believed that he had no powers himself, back when Uryuu assumed that he had never learned, this did not seem so remarkable. Embittering, perhaps, but not remarkable. It is, after all, so easy to disparage something you're not personally involved in, so easy to convince yourself that it had nothing to do with you and then rip it apart with your sword-like tongue. Ryuuken certainly wouldn't be the first to behave in such a way.

However, Uryuu knows better now. Ryuuken has Quincy powers and can use them with a deadly skill. If he knows how to use his powers, that means that, at one time, he had wanted to learn. At one time, though he may have never loved the teachings of their people, he did accept them.

What could have caused such a violent falling out? What could have caused Ryuuken to so utterly reject and condemn the teachings of his father, and then to cut off contact with his kin and put aside that life? Uryuu pauses in the process of eating his breakfast, troubled. What, he wonders, could make a man go from love, or at least acceptance, to such virulent hatred?

This is all worth thought, but no, that's not where Uryuu's thoughts are especially sticking to either. Instead…

"Does this make him the black sheep of the family?"

For some reason, the thought makes Uryuu smile.


	15. Medicinal Lullaby

**Title**: Medicinal Lullaby**  
>Timeline<strong>: AU of the end of chapter 153 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: Here is the second (and final) AU chapter I mentioned. Hope you enjoy it.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

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><p>Ryuuken's eyes narrow as his final arrow hits home, exactly where it was meant to. For a moment, the silver light illuminates Uryuu's face and Ryuuken can see all the shock on Uryuu's face. That he has the gall to look betrayed only cements Ryuuken's opinion of Uryuu's take on the situation. He does not understand. He does not understand at all.<p>

Mercifully, the light of a single marauding arrow burns out soon enough, silver light fizzling before it extinguishes entirely. Ryuuken has lost Uryuu to the shadows before he hears the dull, moist thud that heralds a body hitting the floor.

It's a good thing the fight stopped when it did. Though he is loath to admit it, Ryuuken doesn't think he could have gone on like that for much longer before he started to get sloppy. The idea of Uryuu bearing witness to something like that, Ryuuken's fatigue getting the better of him, is utterly mortifying; Ryuuken never would have willingly let the boy see that he was starting to grow tired. It was fortuitous, then, that Uryuu reached the point of total exhaustion when he did.

Tired and just a little sore (though he would never admit it), Ryuuken is secretly glad to let the tension ease out of his stiff shoulders. He resists the urge to ignite a cigarette—that would help the tension loose even more, but he still has things he needs to do and if he starts smoking now, Ryuuken knows he won't be able to keep his concentration.

He can not honestly say that it's a sure thing that Uryuu will wake up again. In fact, if Ryuuken _really _wants to be honest, there's a very good chance that Uryuu will die. There's no use in denying that. However, if Uryuu does wake up, it will be a few hours at least before he does. _I need to monitor him until then. Making sure he's still alive right now is my top priority._

Ryuuken sighs and tugs on his collar, stepping forward. _Let's see if he hasn't died on me already. _As he starts to walk in the direction of where he saw Uryuu fall, his expression is haggard, dull, even a little bored, but once he gets close enough to make out that limp form, it's as though a hand of ice has closed over his heart.

The sound of ragged breathing fills the room, but the sounds don't belong to the one who is left standing. Uryuu is still awake.

_I… _Ryuuken stops dead in his tracks a few feet from where Uryuu gasps. Uryuu's face is twisted by pain, so contorted that if Ryuuken didn't know who was lying before him, he'd never recognize him as Uryuu. Blood splatters on the floor when Uryuu tries to hoist himself into a sitting position and fails; a highly uncharacteristic whimper tears itself from his lips. To say that he looks to be in agony would be an understatement.

_What happened? Did I miss? _Ryuuken quickly ascertains that _no_, he did not miss. There is the huge five-pronged wound on Uryuu's chest that, according to the notes Soken left behind, will only appear if the arrow hits its mark; otherwise, there would just be the typical wound inflicted by a Quincy's arrow. And stretching out his awareness reveals that the channels through which Uryuu's spiritual energy flows have begun to re-open.

Uryuu was supposed to be knocked out by the final blow; that's what all the notes said would happen. _Well… _Ryuuken grimaces as he recalls an article that contradicts that assertion. _Not always._

Soken's notes did indeed that normally, a Quincy, if they survived being shot in the chest, would fall unconscious for the time needed for their spiritual channels to re-open. However, the old man did also tell of times when a Quincy who had undergone the process to re-awaken their spiritual powers would not fall unconscious.

This is treated as a bad thing, for one very simple reason: A Quincy's channels for spiritual energy opening after having once been closed is supposed to be extraordinarily painful. It's a bit like taking a knife to open an old scar, and digging at the flesh beneath that scar without mercy or care to retrieve a bullet left there years ago. Without anesthetic. Ryuuken isn't entirely sure just how painful re-opening the channels is suppose to be if you're awake, but he's pretty sure he read something about "thrashing about and screaming in pain."

_Delightful._

Ryuuken's eyes clear and he puts aside these thoughts. Heavy, choking gasps, Uryuu desperately trying to breathe the air, fills his ears, drowns the air. This is more important than his speculations.

Blue eyes open just a fraction wider as Ryuuken drops to his knees beside his son. _What do I say? _For a moment, Uryuu struggles to focus his gaze on him, a struggle made harder by the fact that his glasses flew off his face when he fell and are now nowhere to be found. But when his eyes clear and he seems to remember how he got to be lying on the floor, the beginnings of pain starting to shoot in every breath he takes, the look on his face shifts from a lack of comprehension to animalistic alarm.

"Get… Get away!" he gasps. Uryuu tries to sit up again, presumably so he can inch away, but fails miserably. The look of sluggish, half-awake frustration that comes over his face as he again fails to get up would be comical if the situation weren't what it is.

"Quit moving," Ryuuken tells him, voice almost unnaturally soft. "You're just going to hurt yourself."

Uryuu snarls blackly. "Such… compassion," he spits, and even though every word is an obvious struggle, he could not possibly be clearer on what he thinks of that 'compassion.' "Horrible pretense," comes a far more tired addendum.

_So… He thinks I was trying to kill him._

Ryuuken doesn't know what to say, only stares at Uryuu and tries to make his mouth work. Ignoring Ryuuken's warnings, Uryuu still continues his efforts to pull himself to his feet. He eventually manages a sitting position, and that's it. There can be no further attempts; there's no way Uryuu's going to be able to walk out of here as he is now, let alone even manage to stand.

_That… That was not my intent at all._

Something like pain unfurls in a quiet place in his chest at that thought. _What am I supposed to say to him to make understand? What _can _I say? Whatever I say to him, he will not accept. The truth that Uryuu accepts is that this was a farce, and that I have tried to kill him, and failed. He is stubborn; he is obstinate. The only way to make him accept truth is to hammer it past that thick skull of his._

_Doesn't he know I would never try to kill him?_

…_Apparently, he doesn't._

"Uryuu, if I had wanted to kill you," Ryuuken points out, a sharp note entering his voice, "trust me, I would not have waited so long to do so. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already, and you _would _be dead."

To say that the child does not look convinced would be an understatement, but the look of dubiousness that makes Uryuu's brow furrows soon gives way to still more spasms of pain. Breathing is labored and, though Ryuuken can barely tell for the darkness, there is just enough light for him to see a new sheen of sweat forming on Uryuu's forehead. Those eyes come half-shut again in pain, glazed with a skim of water.

_So he's starting to feel that pain, then?_

"If you're wondering about the pain," Ryuuken says, very quietly, "it's not going to go away for a few hours at least. You're not going anywhere; you might as well get comfortable."

Uryuu glares at him, distrustful, but pain makes him keep his mouth clamped shut. From how white and strained his face has become, it's clear that it's all he can do to keep from crying out. _Overwhelming pride does have its uses, after all._

At this moment, Ryuuken would like nothing more than to go get a sedative, or at least some painkillers. It would certainly make Uryuu easier to deal with, to have him half-awake and the edge taken off of his pain. It would probably be a bit of a job to get the pills forced down Uryuu's throat (because God knows it would be the only way Ryuuken would get Uryuu to take any medicine), but Ryuuken thinks he could do it, and he knows it would be a lot easier for them both to get through the night if Uryuu could go through it with less pain.

Unfortunately, that's not going to work. Ryuuken can't just take medication from the storerooms without explaining why he wants it and what he wants it for. He can't take Uryuu upstairs for treatment; neither of them would be able to concoct a plausible story for how Uryuu got this giant wound on his chest. This second option does not concern Ryuuken as much as it might. If Uryuu was dying, he'd have him taken up regardless of whether he had a story or not, and damn the consequences.

What's really important is that, at this stage, Ryuuken doesn't know what sort of effect medication would have on Uryuu. He doesn't know if it would slow down the process of his channels opening up, if it would speed it up, if it would disrupt it entirely. Maybe, in the process of trying to ease pain, Ryuuken would only make it more intense.

_No. I can't do anything to interfere. If I do, I may make a botched job of this, or just put him in worse pain than he is in now. Either way, it will complicate matters even more than they already are._

Arms wobbling noticeably, Uryuu clenches his teeth. Pain is etched in his face, so many lines made starkly black by the shadows. There is blood dribbling down his bony left arm, blood sliding down his chest, the contours of the new wound morphing with each rise and fall of the chest. Uryuu seems to strain just to catch his breath.

Ryuuken puts a hand under his elbow in the attempt to get him into a more comfortable position, but Uryuu won't have it. He jerks his arm away, his rejection clear. Instead, after a few more minutes of straining and heavy gasps, he, of all things, actually gets up and, limping heavily, bent nearly double like an old crone with a shrinking back, shuffles to the wall, where he collapses, back to the solid surface as a support.

Ryuuken rises to his feet and sighs, going to an opposite wall so he can smoke and keep an eye on Uryuu.

If Uryuu doesn't want his help on this score, fine. That's just fine. He's an idiot, an irredeemable fool, but it's fine. Ryuuken doesn't care about that.

_He thinks that I was trying to kill him… _Ryuuken doesn't know where Uryuu got the idea that he'd be happier with him dead, that he likes the sight of him bleeding and hurt so much that he'd try to make a permanent job out of it. It could be the pain making him paranoid, could be Uryuu trying to hurt him, or it could be… It could be, Ryuuken realizes with some small amount of discomfort, stem from the fact that he never gave Uryuu a full explanation of how running him ragged would give him his powers back.

No. Ryuuken knows that if he had given Uryuu a proper explanation, he never would have believed him. Uryuu would have balked at this method, of running him to exhaustion and then shooting him in the chest, or accused him of wanting to see him die. By giving next to no hint of how Ryuuken would go about restoring Uryuu's powers, he was able to pique the boy's curiosity, get him curious enough to go along with it, just to see if Ryuuken was telling the truth or not. Telling Uryuu how he was going to do this never would have worked.

So there was nothing that could be done to avoid this situation; Uryuu never would have accepted the truth in advance. Ryuuken takes in a deep draft of the smoke and sighs; from the opposite wall (relatively close in this part of the chamber), he can hear Uryuu coughing at the smoke and Ryuuken turns his head in another direction.

It couldn't be helped. This night, all that happened within these silver walls, and all this blood, dark on the walls, on the floor, copper tang in the air, could not be helped. It had to happen. Uryuu would die eventually if it hadn't. Ryuuken's eyes glaze over as he casts his gaze towards Uryuu, who has settled into an uneasy sitting position, one of his legs crumpled at an odd angle. There is a whistling quality to his arduous pants, mouth slack and open. His head droops to one side, eyes nearly shut. He no longer acknowledges Ryuuken's presence.

Uryuu would have died without this. Ryuuken knows better than to tell him so—it would only foster a sense of resentment greater than what exists now—but it is the truth. He will keep his silence, and let Uryuu believe what he wants.

But whatever Uryuu thinks, Ryuuken does not like it when he bleeds. He only wishes he could find some way to stop it, could find some words that would put him to sleep. Just for a little while.


	16. visions of another's smile

**Title**: visions of another's smile**  
>Timeline<strong>: between chapters 28 and 29 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: Nothing to say here.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>The midsummer sun beckoned even from within the dark, musty confines of an office with the curtains half drawn. Ryuuken hadn't been able to ignore it, not today. The air was just too close, too thick, and he felt as though his blood would turn to stone in his veins if he didn't feel fresh, living air on his face. Grabbing cigarettes and lighter, Ryuuken left his studies to go sit out in the shade of the small porch.<p>

It rained last night. The evidence of that can still be seen in asphalt that is darker than it should be, in a world whose colors seem unnaturally bright. In the air there's still the smell of rain, combined with the scent of thick, living grass and now marred by smoke as well. Ryuuken winces slightly at how bright a blue the sky is, putting his free hand up over his eyes to make staring out on the small patch of green known as his yard easier to look at.

Though for some reason he doesn't really want to admit it, the living air does feel far better on his face than what there was inside. _You start to wonder if that house really is a tomb after all, _Ryuuken muses. _After all_—his lip quirks this way and that, but not in a smile—_there are so many memories trapped in there. They fly around, never leave you alone, but not once do they suggest that they will leave. _

_They've been walled up in there as much as I have, the memories, the shadows. And none of us can leave…_

A small, trilling cry draws Ryuuken's attention, and he looks up, eyes going towards the yard. It seems he wasn't the only one who wanted to escape the whispers of the house.

Apparently bored with staying inside, Uryuu has ventured outside, looking for pleasure in a world so utterly different from quiet places and cold silence. Though he doesn't have any toys with him outside, Uryuu seems content to run around, staying close to the shade of the single birch tree.

_I suppose he could be playing pretend; that's something small children do often, isn't it? Those picture books of his have probably been getting a bit boring after having read them so many times. I'll have to buy more, just to keep him from getting bored and sticking his nose where it doesn't belong._

Sometimes, it's hard to remember that Uryuu is a small child, when Ryuuken imagines him older, different. Now, he can't see how he ever saw the boy as anything but what he is: tiny, innocent, three-year-old boy, basking in what contentment a child's innocence can bring him. The innocence might already have begun to erode, but there it is in his face, still.

Uryuu hasn't noticed his father standing on the porch yet, even though the wind sends cigarette smoke wafting in his direction. _He must think it's what's left over from the ashtray. _Ryuuken doesn't think he's watched him play, really watched him like this, in weeks, or maybe months.

Soon, it becomes apparent that Uryuu was not playing pretend, but rather, chasing something. Eyes alight, he drops to his knees and claps both his hands over something wriggling in the grass. A look of triumph spreads over that pale little bespectacled face, bright patches forming at the top of his cheeks.

And apparently, he has noticed his father standing on the porch after all, because once he's sure that he's caught whatever it is squirming in his small hands, he comes running up to show off his quarry. Ryuuken quickly puts out his cigarette in the ashtray.

"Look!" he exclaims, breathless. "A frog!"

Yes, Ryuuken can see that, though with its rough brown skin, the poor creature, eyes bulging in terror (not that Uryuu has noticed), is likely a toad, and not a frog. What he's more concerned with at the moment, though, is his child's face.

Though Ryuuken has on more than one occasion given momentary weight to the madness that mistakes Uryuu for someone older, once again he can't help but wonder how he ever could have made that mistake. Uryuu has never looked more like a child, holding a toad in his grubby hands and sported grass-stained knees, that he does now.

And that smile…

Ryuuken has seen that smile before.

It's a funny thing, that though he takes after her in almost every other way, Uryuu does not share with his mother the same smile. Their mouths contort in different ways, showing a smaller number of teeth, gapped teeth, in Uryuu's case. Different lines form and eyes crinkle in different ways. Even at her most reserved, even when her smile was false, Sayuri smiled more widely than this. Her boy has nothing on her.

They're so different, yet the same too. It's the same sentiment, no matter which mouth wears it, wishing to show off joy to whomever is their audience. A bright, cheerful, simple smile, that's the sort of smile the child wears.

It will die. Ryuuken knows that for a fact, that this smile will die and be reborn as something else, something colder and more subdued, because Uryuu will not be able to stand against the hard lessons of the world without them changing him. He's not strong enough to resist the change and what it will do to him. No one can, not really.

That smile will die some day, but for now it is still fresh and new, and even though it shouldn't, it reminds Ryuuken of her. _Why does it always have to be like this? Can't I have just one day with no reminders? Can't I have just one day when I'm not reminded of her?_

Ryuuken stares long and hard at Uryuu, and as the long, humidly sticky moments pass, his gap-toothed smile starts to falter. It's really not sanitary to go picking up a toad like this, Ryuuken reflects. Uryuu could pick up any number of illnesses from the bacteria living on the skin.

However, he can't quite bring himself to tell Uryuu to go inside and wash his hands. "Yes, I see," Ryuuken responds quietly. All of a sudden, that smile reappears, and in the shade of the porch, it is nearly blinding. He drops to one knee in front of Uryuu and gently lifts the toad out of Uryuu's hands, depositing it back in the grass. "But the frog looks frightened." Ryuuken decides not to point out that the "frog" is probably a toad; Uryuu's too young to understand the difference.

The moment he sees his catch hop frantically away towards the safety of the marshy ditch, Uryuu's smile vanishes. In its place is a look of crestfallen indignation. "Why'd you do that?" Uryuu demands, the normal awe he has of his father forgotten in place of disappointment. The hunter is not happy to see his prey flee.

Ryuuken raises an eyebrow. "What on Earth would you have done with it?"

Uryuu's face goes just the slightest shade of pink. "…Play with it?" he suggests hopefully, shuffling his weight uncomfortably and staring at the ground.

"I don't think the frog would have liked to be played with," Ryuuken points out. "Go back out into the yard and play. And leave the wildlife alone!" Ryuuken calls after him as Uryuu runs back out into the yard. It's unlikely that Uryuu will find, say, a snake in the yard, but if he does, Ryuuken would really rather Uryuu didn't have to be taken to the hospital because of a snake bite. That would be just the sort of thing to spoil the whole afternoon.

And still, Ryuuken keeps on watching, looking, ever looking, for that elusive smile.


	17. Clean and White

**Title**: Clean and White**  
>Timeline<strong>: between chapters 98 and 99 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: Not much to say here.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>Sometimes when Uryuu is sick, he will go to sleep on the couch. Ryuuken has arrived too late tonight to have seen for himself, but there is evidence. The thermometer, the glass of water, and the little bottle of cough syrup all left out on the coffee table, they all tell, just like the heightened, feverish color in his cheeks and the way he doesn't wake up when Ryuuken turns on the lamp.<p>

_I wonder what it is this time. _Ryuuken picks up the thermometer and turns it on to see what Uryuu discovered. A short, shrill beep bounces around in the air for a moment and in the aftermath reads a verdict of _'103.1'_. He grimaces. _That is properly ill._

Ryuuken wonders what it is about the living room sofa that makes it so much more comforting to one who is sick than their own bed. A bed is more physically comfortable than the couch; you can't move around to find a more comfortable position on a narrow couch. Uryuu seems to have preferred it, though, sleeping under a pale blue blanket taken from his bed, eyes screwed shut against the waking world.

_You would think he'd care more about his own comfort. I know that when _I _was eleven, there was very little that would have persuaded me to sleep on the couch._

Just so there won't be soreness and angry marks on his skin when he wakes up in the morning, Ryuuken leans down to take off Uryuu's glasses; another thing about Uryuu is that whenever he falls asleep on the couch, he forgets to take his glasses off. As he does so, he has occasion to brush his hand against Uryuu's skin and immediately pulls his hand away. Unless there's a fire burning beneath those stretches of skin (which he doubts), Uryuu's fever has not abated at all.

_If it's still this bad in the morning, he may need antibiotics._

Determining that there's nothing more to see here, Ryuuken starts to move away, towards bed and sleep, both so desperately wanted, when he stops dead in his tracks. He has remembered something, something that seems so insignificant, but still surprises him, if only because he had forgotten it so easily.

He had been angry with Uryuu when he left this morning.

Ryuuken isn't sure what they were arguing about, isn't even sure that it matters. In fact, it probably doesn't matter at all; all of those rows sound the same, anyways. The content doesn't matter. What does matter is that someone said something this morning and the other reacted, that it escalated as things always do, and Ryuuken walked out of the house with a headache gasping into life, ready to snap at anyone over anything.

Uryuu was angry too. Ryuuken could see it in reddened cheeks—_or maybe that was the sign of fever asserting itself even then_—and tense shoulders. Unusually for their arguments, Ryuuken had left first, but that tension and that redness was still there when he left; Uryuu had been staring down unenthusiastically at his breakfast, the last Ryuuken had seen him.

There was so much anger then. This is nothing unusual; it's only unusual when there is no anger to be found. Anger is normality for them both, but now…

Now, Ryuuken can't find any anger at all.

He doubts that Uryuu has suddenly changed his character since the morning. He doubts that Uryuu is any less combative, disrespectful or foolish now than he was this morning. A person's personality needs longer than sixteen hours to do a complete one-eighty. Uryuu is just the same now as he ever was, and yet, when Ryuuken looks at him, there is no anger in his stare, no irritation, nothing.

Maybe it's because he's asleep. Yes, that's probably it. It's easier when Uryuu's asleep. Asleep, face lax and all of those offending sentiments gone, it's far easier to dissociate Uryuu from all the vicious emotions he evokes in his father. When Ryuuken looks at him, he's just a sleeping child. A perfectly clean slate, unmarred by any travails or his own destructive anger.

_When he wakes up, it'll be like this never happened. I'll see all these emotions again, and I will remember why I was angry with him. But I don't remember right now. Odd. I don't remember. So very odd._

Ryuuken sighs. He'll check before he leaves for work tomorrow morning, and make sure that Uryuu doesn't need medicine stronger than the cough syrup the boy got out of the medicine cabinet. For right now, though, there's nothing he wants to do more than sleep, and gain some oblivion for himself like Uryuu has done.

For a moment, Ryuuken stares longer at Uryuu's sleeping face, hand poised on the lamp switch. It's going to be a long time, he suspects, before he's ever able to look at Uryuu and see no traces of hostility. This may be the last time, and strangely, he wants to be able to remember what Uryuu looks like when he's not angry.

Then, he turns off the switch, and gives Uryuu back the anonymity he stole from him.


	18. slow road to nowhere

**Title**: slow road to nowhere**  
>Timeline<strong>: pre-_Entropy_**  
>AN**: Just thought I'd do a bit with Ryuuken and his mother.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>"Thank you," Isono murmurs with her cracked voice as Ryuuken hands her the glass of water she had asked for. Isono has propped herself up on the couch, leaning against a pillow and the arm of the couch. She winces when the springs creak and sag a little, bracing her shaky arm to keep from sliding off.<p>

Ryuuken sits down in the chair he's pulled away from the kitchen table, silent. His mother gulps down the water as though she is parching the thirst of a rain-starved desert. She's always thirsty these days, reaching for anything that can give her perpetually dry throat relief. And still, no matter how much she drinks, she is thirsty again within a few minutes.

When Isono has drained her glass, she sets it down on the floor and nods to her son. "So you and your father are done for today?"

He nods silently.

"And you're done with your homework?" A faintly stern note enters Isono's voice. She straightens slightly, and for a moment looks something like her old self.

Ryuuken ducks his head and almost smiles. Isono has never objected to the training Soken has so vehemently insisted to be necessary, but at the same time has always been firm in her belief that it should not interfere with Ryuuken's schoolwork. He welcomes any moment when Isono seems more like herself, firm and steady instead of unnaturally lax. In these moments, he can almost tell himself that nothing is seriously wrong. "Yes, ma'am."

The faint twitch of a smile makes her tired lips quirk. "Good. Remember to do your homework." Her shadowed brown eyes scan the breadth of the small house that is within her sight. "Where is your father?" Isono asks, shoulders slumping slightly.

"Gone," Ryuuken answers shortly, turning his gaze away from his mother's face so he won't see how it falls. He knows she wanted to talk to Soken, though not about what. However, it seems that Soken can't quite bring himself to be in the house when his wife's sickness grows especially profound. _Coward._

"Ah." When Ryuuken looks back at her, Isono shows no sign of concern or disappointment on her face, but this doesn't mean much. "I'll talk to him when he gets back then. It's not like he can stay out all night, after all," she remarks, a strangely ironic tone permeating her voice. "He has to get tired sometime."

Ryuuken looks away again, setting his jaw. "…I suppose," he murmurs.

Ryuuken is able to admit that his father probably has his reasons for this, for struggling to distance himself from the twin specters of illness and death, but whatever these reasons are, Ryuuken condemns them utterly. Whatever those reasons are, it's no excuse to not be here, no excuse to fall flat on his responsibilities as a father and a husband even more than he already has. It's no excuse for making Ryuuken… _Don't. _Ryuuken cuts that thought off before he can finish it. Better not to go there.

No. Instead of staying here and helping to care for his ill wife, Soken expresses optimism that Isono will eventually recover. His actions betray him in that regard, however. Nearly constantly out of the house, taking solace in the nature of the hunt, he betrays himself that way.

"Are you hungry?" Ryuuken asks suddenly, as it occurs to him that Isono has been lying down for several hours and has had nothing to eat in all that time. "I can make something…"

Isono frowns at him. "I can cook my own meals, Ryuuken," she chides. "You don't have to do that. I'm not an invalid."

_Not yet, maybe, _Ryuuken muses gloomily, stretching his lips thin. For a moment, he hopes, he prays that she never will be. For a moment, he acts like his father and hopes that eventually, she will get better, and all of this, the long bouts of coughing, the fatigue, the fevers, will be nothing more than a bad dream. That's what he wants, after all. He doesn't want her to deteriorate any further, doesn't want to see her vitality flee her any more than it already has.

When Ryuuken remembers reality again, he shakes those thoughts away. There has been nothing so far to suggest that, so much as he has hoped for it and how fervently he's prayed for it in the dark, quiet places. That, ultimately, is the difference between he and his father, that Ryuuken can't help but be honest with himself.

He sees her growing smaller before his eyes. The descent is slow, barely noticeable, but Ryuuken has seen it. He sees how her hair grows lank and her eyes dull, her skin waxen. He sees how those limbs grow smaller and weaker, even if she tries to conceal it. For now, what is most apparent is that she's always tired, can never quite find her energy, and is always thirsty, but Ryuuken knows that what he detects well become obvious as time goes on. He just wishes so much that it would stop.

He remembers the days when they would walk together to school. That wasn't so long ago, really; this is Ryuuken's first year at junior high. Isono would walk purposefully down the road and, when they got to a place that was properly paved, the sidewalk. A bag with lesson plans and graded papers hung from her shoulder and her long green skirt blew back and forth in the wind.

She would make sure, at least twice every day, that Ryuuken had done all of his homework and that he had all of his homework and all of his books with him. He would make sure that she had everything she needed to teach with her. Onlookers would look at this display with raised eyebrows and the sort of thoughts along the line of "_Well, that's weird." _Neither of them either noticed; how they chose to express caring was their own business, and no one else's. It was a routine, a ritual, and Ryuuken found it comforting, considering there was very little else quite so certain in his life.

Ryuuken remembers as well the first time he ever saw the pale white scars on the side of her neck, similar to what his father has on his arms. One day, when he was four, Isono picked him up while they were outside, and the wind had blown her long, dark hair away from her neck so he could see them. Fascinated, he had reached out a hand to tough the shallow ridges of flesh, until Isono had guided his hand away and asked not to do that again, a strange, almost contorted look on her face. After that, Soken had relieved her of their child, sensing something amiss.

For the life of him, Ryuuken doesn't know why he remembers that, except, in the bright, crisp Autumn day, her eyes had grown over-bright, and he remember, he'd never seen a look like that on her face before, and has only rarely seen it since. That look has stayed with him ever since he first saw it. He doesn't know why. It just has.

That… That was when she looked alive. That's what Ryuuken wants to see come back, craving normality, craving mercy, craving the restoration of good health and the banishment of the shadow of Death. There's nothing he wants more. And yet…

And yet, Ryuuken still can't bring himself to hope.

_I want her to get better. I don't want her to die. But I can already see Death waiting in the shadows. I can smell it in the air. It's a crushing reality and I-I don't know how to fight it. I can't do anything. _

_I don't see why learning how to slay dead spirits is worth anything if I can't even save the living. I don't see why I should learn how to fire arrows if I can't even get rid of Death. Why should I think about helping the dead if I can't even help her?_

"What's wrong?"

Ryuuken looks back at his mother, wincing at the sight of her furrowed brow and suddenly piercing eyes. "Excuse me?" he asks faintly. He has no idea what she just said, so wrapped up in his thoughts was he, but he's sure, from the look on her face, that it was nothing good.

Isono tilts her head slightly. "What's wrong?" she repeats, every word quite deliberate.

Apparently, he wasn't able to keep his darker thoughts off of his face. Ryuuken stares down at the floor, resolving in future to hide his emotions better when talking to her. "Nothing," he mutters.

Ryuuken looks up in surprise when a hand rests on his cheek. Isono has summoned another weak smile. "I should be able to go back to work in a few days. There's nothing to worry about."

He nods, and wishes he could believe her.


	19. leave the pieces when you go

**Title**: leave the pieces when you go**  
>Timeline<strong>: between chapters 118 and 119 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: Hello again. I don't have a whole lot to say on this one. It's more an interlude than anything else.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>The stone floor is cold to the touch and given the muggy nighttime heat outside, Uryuu supposes he should be grateful for that. It's warm enough in here that he doesn't need a blanket (another thing to be thankful for), but if not for the strangely cool floor, it would be too warm to sleep in here, even for Uryuu.<p>

He didn't bring a blanket with him when he left, so Uryuu goes to sleep wearing the jacket for his winter uniform draped over his shoulders. Even if it's warm, it seems odd to be trying to sleep without some sort of covering.

It seems odd, even if he's not sleeping in a bed.

It's quiet now, in the shrine. The priest has gone home, wherever it is he lives. The little miko has as well. The little girl with white ribbons in her dark hair, who can't have been more than ten years old and was likely doing this for a bit of extra money, kept glancing over at him shyly while she swept the floor. Constantly afraid that she was going to walk over and try to talk to him, Uryuu was glad when she left.

_Let's dream of something happy, _Uryuu thinks to himself desperately, swallowing down hard on a sudden knot in his throat and shifting his weight to find a comfortable sleeping position. _Let's not remember. Let's just think of something happier, something different._

But he can't. All alone, trying to sleep in the darkness, listening to the wind blow soft currents through the fir trees outside, Uryuu's mind can't help but wander. There are no happy dreams to latch onto here, not when reality closes in on all sides.

The elderly priest has allowed him to stay here for a few nights, but Uryuu can't stay here. A Shinto shrine is no substitute for a proper home, and the priest here won't _let _him stay here for more than a week, probably. There's also the matter that there's nothing resembling a shower here, Uryuu has no idea if there are any public bathhouses in the vicinity, and if he goes for long enough without bathing, eventually there's going to be a rather distinctive smell.

His teachers would probably start to notice, at that. Uryuu can just imagine what would happen from there. He would be subject to interrogation, and even if he hedged and evaded their questions, eventually he would be found out. And from there…

_No. I can't go back. I-I just can't._

After that happened between him and Ryuuken this morning, Uryuu can't bring himself to countenance the possibility of going back to that house. He doesn't want to live with that man, if what he said was true. _And even if it wasn't, even if he was lying, I still wouldn't. Who tells their kid they don't care if they live or die? What kind of person says that as a lie? And what sort of person says it as the truth?_

With any luck, Ryuuken won't come looking for him—though Uryuu doesn't see why he would, after what was revealed this morning. That would be disastrous if he did.

_(Maybe, maybe, there is somewhere a part of him that wants Ryuuken to try to find him. On some level, though Uryuu will not openly acknowledge it, he would give anything to see Ryuuken express worry over him, to know that what he said this morning was just a lie. The question of _why _he would lie about that would still remain, but it would mean so much._

_Uryuu never does admit this, though. If he does, then all of this will fall apart, and he will just go back, head bowed in defeat, and throw himself back into the futile struggle of trying to see something like a father in him.)_

It's easy to tell himself that he never wants to see Ryuuken again. Anger breathes a soothing song, corrupting fire clogging all his veins and halting the flow of reasonable thoughts. After all, to be angry is so much easier than being truthful, than admitting that there is still some of those more self-destructive inclinations in him. And yet…

_I hope he at least remembers to eat something. I'm not going to be there to keep him from starving himself if he gets the inclination not to eat._

_That's why I was able to put up with so much, I guess. Because I care. Someone needs to care about him, even if he pushes me away every time I try to make that clear. And I guess… I guess that what I really wanted was for him to care about me. That's what all kids want, right? To have parents who care about them, look out for them, don't let them fall into a hell of their own making. I'm not that different. I just wanted to hear it said, just once._

_I guess I was just an idiot all the long._

Uryuu doesn't know where he's going to go when he can no longer stay here. He supposes he's going to have to start looking though the newspaper tomorrow for places to live, but truth is, he has no idea where he's going to live. He doesn't have a whole lot of money on him; Uryuu knows that there are any number of odd jobs he could take, but even so, he's not sure that it would be enough for all the expenses of living in an apartment, even a small, low-end one.

_I'll manage. Somehow, I'll manage. I can't stay here, and I can't go back._

The weight of cold metal, a weight so slight and yet pulling at his neck as though constructed with lead, presses down on Uryuu's chest. He rolls over so the chain of his cross pendant doesn't go taut against his throat. Now lying on his back, head pillowed on one of his right arm, Uryuu pulls the pendant out from under his shirt and stares at it, holding the cross in his hand.

The silver is inexplicably cool after having spent hours against his skin, as though it's spent all day in a refrigerator. It always feels cool, for some reason. Maybe it's moonlight the little cross catches, because the pendant flashes in the dark, gleaming silver for just a moment. "I wonder," Uryuu mutters, "I wonder what happens now."

Symbolic of weight, symbolic of grief, symbolic of everything that tears at him and everything that still gives him reason to live, the pendant does not answer. It is only cold silver; it can not have a voice. The cross only winks with its caught light, enigmatic.

Funny how something can be so light and so heavy at the same time.

Cold silver goes to rest on his chest, exposed the night air now, and Uryuu closes his eyes, telling himself that there's no use in dwelling on these thoughts anymore and that what he needs more than anything is some sleep.

The wind outside continues to whisper things he doesn't want to hear long after consciousness has gone.


	20. Demands to Make

**Title**: Demands to Make**  
>Timeline<strong>: pre-_Entropy_**  
>AN**: Just a funny one.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>It's just before dawn, the sky a shade of purple that Urahara isn't sure whether to term "lavender" or "lilac." That probably doesn't matter in the long run—the only other people likely to care shade of purple the pre-dawn sky is are writers. Urahara's not a writer; he supposes he shouldn't care either.<p>

_Maybe "wisteria" would work better…_

What color the sky is doesn't matter, Urahara tells himself, as he knocks on the door to the rather run-down-looking house he's stopped at. It's irrelevant, not important at all, and, as his aching stomach is so kind as to remind him, he's got bigger things to worry about.

_I hope he's home._

After a few increasingly despairing moments, the door finally creaks open. Urahara plasters a wide smile to his face, expecting to see Ishida Soken standing behind the doorframe, but where he should meet eyes, there is only empty air. He looks down and…

_Oh. Wonderful._

…And Urahara's smile becomes just a touch strained at the sight of Soken's nine-year-old son, still in his night clothes, frowning and glaring blearily up at him. He winces.

"What do you want?" Ryuuken asks flatly, and Urahara isn't sure if it's dislike or the fact that the boy has obviously just now been roused from bed that makes his voice so blunt. He winces again.

Urahara has always gotten along reasonably well with Soken. If anything, the man is under normal circumstances so easygoing that it would be rather difficult not to get along with him. The only way this could be accomplished would be if you were to deliberately set out to dislike him, or if you threatened his family in some way. Otherwise, Soken is normally a ridiculously easy person to get along with.

His young progeny is another matter entirely, at least where Urahara is concerned. Ryuuken has never liked Urahara, though for the life of him the latter has never been able to figure out why. _What on Earth did I do to make you hate me so much? _After all, he's never been anything but friendly and polite to the boy, even when Ryuuken insists on being antagonistic. He's given him no reason to dislike him, and yet Ryuuken insists on this bizarre animosity.

Oh well, no matter. It may bother Urahara that the boy dislikes him so—_Really, why would anyone dislike little old me?_—but that is a question for another day, when he doesn't feel like he's going to pass out from hunger. "Where is your father?" Urahara responds to Ryuuken's question with a question of his own.

"Out," the boy answers shortly. "Why?"

No use hiding why he's here, if Soken isn't around to talk to. Urahara doesn't think he could get much leeway with _Mrs. _Ishida, considering he doesn't know her all that well—whenever he comes over here, she's usually away somewhere or so engrossed in grading papers that she doesn't even notice him. _How difficult can it be to talk a nine-year-old into doing something you want them to do._

"Okay, I'll tell you the truth," Urahara says with a rueful smile. "I haven't eaten in three days and I feel like I'm going to pass out at any moment. You mind letting me inside so I can eat something?"

Ryuuken does not step aside from the door. Instead, his lip pulls back in the beginnings of a scowl. "We don't have a whole lot of food. Why don't you just wait until you get back to your shop? There must be plenty of food there." Ryuuken frowns suddenly. "What have you been doing that kept you from eating for three days, anyway?"

Urahara decides to just be honest. It's unlikely that lying to the boy will raise him any higher in his esteem than he is now, and maybe Ryuuken will take pity on him if he tells the truth. "I was testing some new equipment." He's not going to say exactly what that "equipment" was. "I had to do it somewhere remote, but didn't realize it was going to take so long. The time just slipped away from me."

The boy raises an eyebrow with a "You are such an idiot" sort of look on his face, and though Urahara doesn't like being thought of as an idiot, he supposes he can give Ryuuken a little ground here. It's an especially good thing at times like this that Urahara isn't human, since he also forgot to bring any water with him; if he was still living, three days without water would have been more than enough to ensure that he wouldn't be able to call himself "living" anymore.

"You haven't answered my other question," Ryuuken points out, folding his arms across his chest. "What, Urahara-san, is supposed to stop you from getting something to eat back at your shop?"

Urahara sighs and stares down at him. This boy really is incredibly stubborn—it seems to be a familial trait, along with pride—and his stubbornness is only bolstered by his dislike for Urahara. "Surely you don't want me to collapse from hunger before I get there? Would you really want that on your conscience?"

Ryuuken's eyes narrow. "…Alright," he says finally, but before Urahara can step pass him (_Thank God_), Ryuuken stands more firmly in the doorway. "But _only _if you agree to some things."

At this point, Urahara is so relieved and so weak from hunger that the thought of acquiescing to demands made by a nine-year-old doesn't really bother him too much. "Whatever you say," he agrees, with a grandiose sweep of the arms.

With a strangely businesslike nod, Ryuuken jumps straight into it. "First off, next time you send Yoruichi-san over here, could you please tell her to come in _human _form? We don't mind all the mice she got rid of, but her changing back into a human nearly made my mother faint."

Deciding not to tell him that Yoruichi likes to do that just to scare people, Urahara nods solemnly.

"My mother is sick, and still sleeping. If you wake her up…" Ryuuken trails off ominously.

Urahara makes a cross over his heart. "I'll be as quiet as a mouse. You have my solemn oath," he remarks whimsically.

Ryuuken doesn't look all that amused by this display, but doesn't call foul on Urahara's treating him like the child that he is. "Last thing. Once you're done here, why don't you act like a _real _Shinigami for once and actually purify some Hollows?" he asks, needling—or at least trying to—under Urahara's skin.

Given that Ryuuken will have no way of proving whether or not he actually has abided by this last term, Urahara merely nods hurriedly. "Yes, yes, whatever you say. Now let me in."

To his great relief, Ryuuken does so.

Too bad Urahara can still feel Ryuuken's animosity seeping through the air like toxic gas. That's bound to spoil the atmosphere at breakfast.

_Seriously, what did I _ever _do to make him act like this?_


	21. walking alone

**Title**: walking alone**  
>Timeline<strong>: any time between chapters 119 and 136 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: Just a short, introspective piece.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>He's decided this is better, better to live, hunt and while out the long nights alone. The isolation is thick, oppressive, gloomy, but it's what Uryuu's decided on. He taps out coins, grains of rice, the hours, always by himself, never speaking to anyone else who lives, not unless he has to.<p>

The others around him, when they notice him, shy away. Uryuu gives off a sense of strangeness and abnormality the way others might give a sense of being an animal lover or a pencil-pusher. His new neighbors give the boy who never talks to them a wide berth, never asking what he's doing here or what he is beneath his name, preferring to speculate on their own.

Who is this kid? Why doesn't he ever talk to us? Why doesn't he try to socialize like a normal person? He's kinda creepy, with the way he seems to know secrets and the way his eyes just stare straight through you. And since when does a kid this young live by himself? He's always covered in bandages; have you noticed? Is he a delinquent? Is he a fugitive? No, don't try to talk to this guy! We don't know anything about him!

In a way, Uryuu is grateful for his neighbors' skittishness. If their curiosity were ever to overcome their wariness, Uryuu would likely find himself bombarded with questions he doesn't want to answer. Their silence has its advantages.

That's not to say he likes the way their faces grow guarded whenever he draws near. Uryuu hates the barriers between him and everyone else, the barriers that keep growing wider, even if he never goes out of his way to speak. He doesn't want to be thought of as weird or creepy and treated accordingly. He doesn't want to be the sort of person whom everyone else does everything they can to avoid; he's the first to admit that he likes his privacy, but even Uryuu wouldn't mind being thought of as a normal person.

Normal. Such a simple word, but to be normal is impossible for almost anyone, and certainly impossible for someone who wouldn't know normality if it suddenly infected every aspect of their life.

And really, Uryuu is probably better off. That's what he tells himself when he goes more than a day without talking because no one talks to him, and surprisingly, finds that he half-means it.

This is what he's learned, and is surprised that no one else has seen it too: the tongue is a double-edged sword. It hurts the speaker and everyone around them. This Uryuu has learned, the lesson learned with difficulty, and now that he knows, he won't forget it. He doesn't want to feel the tongue's blade on him, he doesn't want to inflict it on others, and for the life of him, Uryuu doesn't know how to talk without turning his tongue into a sword.

So really, it's better to just walk alone. Loneliness hurts less than a blade digging into the bones.


	22. chance of recovery is limited

**Title**: chance of recovery is limited**  
>Timeline<strong>: pre-_Entropy_**  
>AN**: This got me thinking of that episode of _Gargoyles. _Hmm…**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>The phone had rung literally the moment Soken had stepped back inside his small house. To be honest, he doesn't remember much between answering the phone and getting to the hospital. Soken doesn't really understand why anyone would expect him to remember that journey.<p>

"_I am sorry to inform you…"_

It's the news he was expecting for months, the news he'd been steeling himself against for months. He could smell death in the air, see it lingering in the shadows, every time he went to see her (_So his visits grew less and less_). This was what he'd been expecting, what he'd been dreading, what he'd told himself he had to be prepared for, because once she was gone there would be no one else and…

_But she was so young. It's… not fair, is it?_

Soken sighs heavily as he walks the antiseptic-doused hallways; _that's another thing that kept him away, that smell, but it shouldn't have mattered, he should have been here… _Death, he knows all too well, is the only thing of this world that is truly fair. It happens to everyone, comes for the rich, the poor, the young, the old, the husbands, the wives. Death does not discriminate. The fairness of Death is indeed well-documented.

Still, Soken can't shake the thought that in Isono's case, Death could have waited. It could have waited another ten, fifteen years, to take a toll on her health and then snatch her up once the bonds of life were sufficiently loosened. It could have let her have more of the years she deserved. Surely that wouldn't have been too much to ask for.

Oh, well. There's no use railing against death after the soul it's come for is gone. Any argument ought to have been made before the trial was concluded. What Soken has to concern himself with now is picking up the pieces of this whole affair.

_There he is._

Whoever it was who had called the house, they said that Ryuuken was already here. Funny, he doesn't look nearly as hysterical as they'd intimated. If anything, Ryuuken looks exhausted and as flimsy as paper, slumped in a chair in the hall, draped over its curves. As he gets closer, he can see the scarlet, sodden eyes, can hear the ragged breathing and how each breath threatens to mutate into a sob.

"Ryuuken…" Soken sits down beside him wearily, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder to get his attention. Ryuuken's eyes flit to his father, and Soken has just enough time to see something ugly pass behind those bloodshot eyes before they return to scouring the floor.

They sit in silence, Soken keeping his eyes fixed on his son in case Ryuuken wants to speak. He doesn't dare go into the room whose door has been left open, as sundry people without faces, dressed all in white, file in and out. He doesn't dare speak for fear of drowning out the other. And what can he say, really? Nothing that will give Ryuuken any comfort, any at all.

Maybe it's because he's so young, or maybe because the grief is still so horridly raw and flesh (_she's not even cold yet, Soken will wager_), but Ryuuken gives off the air of one who has closed his ears. Soken has gotten this impression from him before—many times, in fact, but that is the curse of being a teenager's parent—but never quite so profound as it seems now. He may as well be deaf to the workings of the world.

Or maybe not.

"She'd been asking for you," Ryuuken says dully, though each word is poised and thrust like a knife. "She wanted to talk to you; I don't know about what." Soken thinks he probably knows, and winces. "Why… why didn't you come earlier?" he asks, barely audible.

_Oh my. _Soken squeezes his eyes tightly shut, feeling the same sharp stabs he'd felt when he first realized how this was all going to end. "Sometimes…" He swallows "…Sometimes these things happen," he says quietly.

Ryuuken looks up, and even though his face is outwardly drained of all emotion, his eyes burn.

And then, he says the harshest thing, the thing sure to break his father's heart, because this is when children learn how to break their parents' hearts, when they're in the process of being devoured by grief themselves and their hearts have been hollowed out like a corn husk. The words, the words, they're so quiet, but he can still hear all that's left out and implied.

"Maybe they shouldn't," Ryuuken replies, and there is no forgiveness in that flat voice.

Soken's only response is to pull the boy into an abrupt hug, and to be surprised when Ryuuken doesn't try to squirm away. To him, the silence that comes afterwards is the worst of his life. He can't say a word—the words have all been robbed, made useless—and all he can think is that Ryuuken's right.

They shouldn't.


	23. to mourn the living

**Title**: to mourn the living**  
>Timeline<strong>: between chapters 93 and 94 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: A quiet one.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>"<em>There's no shame in mourning your lost loved ones."<em>

_The warm, sweet smell of tea fills the small kitchen, and for the life of him, years later Uryuu can't remember how this conversation started. He does remember the taste of that tea and what his grandfather said next._

"_As I said, it's not shameful to mourn the dead. You may, however…" The old man hesitates over the kettle on his old stove. After a moment, Soken resumes speech as though this hesitation never occurred. "You may find yourself mourning the living person who seems as if dead."_

Uryuu has no idea why his grandfather told himself that, even now, but it's not like he can go ask him. It's a bit late for that. He steps inside out of the bitter January cold, grateful to be out of the wind and the cold, even if it's not very warm in here. He'd taken some money earlier to go buy groceries, and as he puts the milk away, Uryuu wonders if his father even noticed that he was gone.

After putting away everything he bought—_lovely food, if a little bit lonely; for some reason; T.V. dinners just reek of loneliness_—Uryuu goes down the hall, just to check and make sure that Ryuuken isn't angry with him for going out without asking.

_I don't see why I should feel guilty over that. There wasn't a whole lot of food left, and it's not like he tried to stop me when I left. I have to eat; I don't see why I should feel guilty._

One peek through the door to Ryuuken's office, left slightly ajar, tells Uryuu that no, he probably didn't notice that his son was gone for more than an hour. Ryuuken is poring intently over one of his books; at the same time, he jots absent lines on a sheet of crisp, white paper. He is deaf to the world. Uryuu doesn't know what he's writing, or for what end, and frankly, he doesn't care all that much.

More disappointed than he cares to admit—_a moment of acknowledgement, that's all he asks for_—, Uryuu slides away. Once in his room, he unwinds his scarf from his neck and frees himself from the confines of his gray winter coat; both are cast on the bed with little in the way of care. He goes to staring out the window, looking out upon the dreary gray world with little enthusiasm.

School started recently; the same story of tests, quizzes, homework and constant studying so his grades don't drop. While Uryuu will admit that the sight of a bright, red-lettered _'100!' _on his test paper is always satisfying, he has no love for the crowds, for the sideways glances and the whispers.

The constant whispers, whether real or manufactured by his head, dog him wherever he goes. At school, they tell him _"They want to do you harm", "You'll never be anything to them", "You're just the creepy kid. You know, the loner who never talks. The one who never gets any better." _Normal things, so normal in fact, that Uryuu is able to block them out enough to go about his day normally. He can still hear them, though, even if he doesn't listen. It's the white noise no one can make go away, not entirely.

And they're no better here, those whispers. They just speak of different things. Tell him he's locked up in these walls, that the shadows are all he has and will ever have. That that's all he'll ever be—a shadow. Of what, even the whispers do not dare to hint.

They are harder to block out here, if only because at school at least there is the din of other voices to distract him. That, Uryuu supposes, was the reason for starting sewing in the first place.

_Where'd I put that kit? _he wonders to himself, biting his lip. His room isn't messy at all—quite the contrary, in fact, and to unnatural effect. It shouldn't be difficult to find one sewing kit.

_Ah, there it is. _Uryuu sees the sewing kit on his nightstand and pulls it to his lap. He's bought some more of those cross-stitch packets from the store. In the absence of anything else to do, it should, at least, help keep him from going completely insane from the whispers the silence manufactures.

For itself, the sewing does its work well, keeping Uryuu's mind occupied on one thing. "Is it supposed to do this?" he mutters to himself with the yellow thread gets tangled in his fingers. It's cutting off the blood flow; Uryuu's sure it's not supposed to do this. Eventually, Uryuu gets the golden thread disentangled from his fingers, undoes the knots, and goes on with his work. All is well with the world.

All too soon, though, he's done, and Uryuu can't quite bring himself to burn through all the others. Uryuu looks at the image for a moment—a floating sun with golden lilies, so surreal and so completely unlike what the world is as of now. Eventually, he puts the cross-stitch away and goes back to staring out the window, pulling the covers of his bed up around his shoulders like a cloak.

_Why was I thinking about what he'd said that day? _Uryuu frowns pensively, propping his chin on his hand as he stares out at the gray world.

That he was remembering isn't all that odd. Uryuu finds himself recalling the snatches of long-lost talks all the time, words catching on his ears. But why this?

Through the thin walls, Uryuu winces when he hears the thick, hard thud of a book falling to the floor. He can hear Ryuuken muttering something that he supposes he should be glad he can't make out, and after a few moments, all falls to silence again. It's always like this, whenever he's home. Uryuu may as well be living by himself for how little he sees of him, even on the days when Ryuuken doesn't have to work.

And maybe he does know why he was thinking of his grandfather's words now, of all times.

Ryuuken's finally shaken off the malaise that sweeps over him at this time of the year. No longer is he silent and staring, voice lost to the winter cold, so distant that to look at him is to imagine seeing a man from a thousand miles off. He speaks again, no longer lost in thought, and just as irritable and snappish as he ever was.

Whenever this happens, and whenever it's over, Ryuuken behaves as though it never happened. Uryuu remembers, but the unspoken rule of the house is not to acknowledge when one has gone down to sleeping with his eyes still open. When they sink into grief, they do so alone. No one tries to touch on that grief. No one ever raises their heads to look on it. It is inviolable, or maybe just so ugly that no one can even bear to bring their eyes on it.

Uryuu remembers, and he knows that even when Ryuuken is his normal self, he seems… _flat_, compared to other people. He doesn't laugh, he so rarely smiles that Uryuu has a hard time remembering what that looks like. He rarely lifts his voice and there is under normal circumstances so little emotion injected in his voice that it's like listening to an automaton.

He just doesn't seem to enjoy anything. Eating, reading, going to work and all of those other normal activities are treated with either indifference or irritation. Ryuuken treats life as one more toil to trek through. There is no joy taken in it, no appreciation of the sensation of being alive; even Uryuu can enjoy being alive, but he can't. It's just a job, a chore, being alive, and there is no joy.

He's just like the ghosts, except even they can still find reason to be happy. Ryuuken, Uryuu knows, has found no such reason, none at all. _None at all, _he acknowledges bitterly.

Uryuu sighs, barely noticing a few unenthusiastic snowflakes fall. It's not cold enough for them to hold their form; by tomorrow they'll be slush.

Living without joy, without hope, that, Uryuu can guess now, is what his grandfather meant by the living dead.

And he does mourn.


	24. Agony of Affection

**Title**: Agony of Affection**  
>Timeline<strong>: pre-_Entropy_**  
>AN**: Another "delving into the distant past" one. Okay, this one came out a bit weird. I hope you like it anyways.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>Soken doesn't really notice until weeks afterwards, far too long to do anything about it. He's not sure what it is that finally tipped him off, either—<em>Ryuuken can be antagonistic even at the best of times, so what was it that signaled this as different? <em>Maybe it was the way Ryuuken seemed incapable of smiling when they spoken, or maybe it was the undercurrents of resentment in his voice.

Maybe it was the flash of hate in his eyes he saw today, so fleeting, but eating the air like a fire.

Hate. That's what he saw in Ryuuken's eyes this morning, in the kitchen, just before the boy left for school. Soken had realized how thin Ryuuken has gotten, guilt washing over him to realize that he had just now noticed. _How long has this been going on? How long since he last ate decently? Why am I only seeing it now? Why couldn't I see it before?_

He had tried to talk—and indeed, Soken can't even remember what he had tried to say. All he can remember is the flash in Ryuuken's eyes and his muttered response ("I don't want to talk about it.") before he left.

That look had only lasted for a moment, but Soken can still feel the burn on his skin. He's not sure if he really had noticed the changes in Ryuuken's demeanor towards him before and this was just the moment when he couldn't ignore it anymore, but either way, he's noticed now. Ryuuken's message is painfully clear.

_Why did it come to this?_

He's alone in the kitchen, the only company the wind whistling through the crack under the back door. Ryuuken has holed himself up in his room, though whether to do his homework or just be by himself Soken has no idea. Either way, there has been no sound from that small room for hours. Ryuuken hasn't even emerged to eat, though Soken knows that if he doesn't soon, he's going to have to force the issue. Whatever Ryuuken's feelings towards him, Soken won't let him go without eating. Not now that he's realized how little Ryuuken has eaten lately.

Vaguely sick, stomach roiling, Soken nearly asks Isono is she can give him any idea of how to fix it. He turns his head towards the couch, opens his mouth to speak, and then his words catch in his throat as he remembers that the place where she once sat is empty. There's no one there but him, and she will always be gone.

_Amazing, how much love for another can hurt. It shouldn't, but it does. If only I could figure out why…_

There is a chasm between them that can only grow wider. It wasn't something anyone ever noticed when Isono was still alive. She was the intermediary, after all; Ryuuken loved his mother too much to show the extent of his anger against his father. Instead, Ryuuken showed brittle civility and, occasionally, actual enjoyment. Those were the moments Soken lived for, when his son would actually take something resembling interest in what he was trying to teach him and actually behave as though he didn't hate every minute of his training.

Grief and loss has shattered those moments, made them utterly worthless. They won't be recalled, won't be weighed by Ryuuken in his judgments. All he has seen or will remember are what he judges to be his father's failings, and for this, Soken finds himself condemned utterly.

He can think of so many ways that maybe this could have been averted. Soken will admit, wincing from guilt, that he wasn't terribly supportive of his son over these past few weeks; he can't imagine what Isono would say if she could see the way this travesty has played out. Grief struck him dumb, far more harshly than he had expected, and he could see nothing beyond it. He had forgotten that Ryuuken was grieving as well. Maybe if he had remembered that, had given Ryuuken some support, it would have been enough to patch the gaping wounds that have split open now.

There are so many "what ifs". What if he hadn't insisted that Ryuuken learn how to hunt Hollows, knowing how much he hated it? What if he had taken a more consistently active role in Ryuuken's life beyond that? What if he had given Ryuuken more guidance while his mother was sickening? Maybe behaving differently would have been able to keep things from turning out the way they have.

Or maybe it would still be like this, regardless.

Soken doesn't know if any of those "what if" situations would have made a difference. What he does know is that it's too late, far too late, to gesticulate at the past and cry "_I tried!" _He knows better than to do that. He also knows pain, the sharp, stabbing pain when he realizes that he's been blind for so long that sight shows him a completely different landscape from the one he saw last.

Ryuuken has disappeared beneath his grief and bitterness. Even discounting the display of this morning, his mouth is set in a constant bitter line; his face is drawn and hard. Where once there was a boy, if an overly-serious, easily irritated boy, there is now a creature who is neither child nor man. An amalgamation of both, that's what he is, displaying all the cynicism of a hardened, weary adult while letting slip the child's nature with a briefly trembling lip.

Soken understands him not at all (_and yet he understands all too well_), only wishes he could see the boy he used to know somewhere in that face.

The boy is too young to understand the pain of being considered a disappointment by a loved one, and has never felt the sting of being looked on as "a disappointment." Soken can tell him that it is harsh, and that love and affection will provide him with a wealth of reasons to weep before he sees his final day.

But he knows Ryuuken won't listen. There's no forgiveness in his eyes, no room for listening.

_I will try again tomorrow. He might not listen, but I'll try again tomorrow._

_No matter if he listens, I'll still try. There's nothing left but to try. How can I do anything else?_


	25. the weight of small things

**Title**: the weight of small things**  
>Timeline<strong>: between chapters 74 and 75 of _Entropy_**  
>AN**: I think this is where I'm going to stop. Sorry, guys. I might come back to this in the future, so I'm not going to mark it as "complete", but not right now.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>He's asleep now, but not well. Even with his eyes screwed shut, Ryuuken can make out the red outline. Even sleeping, Uryuu's eyes look bloodshot, and his whole face is still flushed red from weeping. Sleep grants him no peace at all.<p>

Ryuuken supposes he can sympathize, as he stares down at his sleeping son, fitful and curled on the couch. As much as Uryuu can probably still smell blood, even in unconsciousness, Ryuuken can as well. A bitter copper sea, always rising, never ebbing, threatening nausea just as it had then. The heat had pressed down on his shoulders and made the decay stretch out its hands so far. Small things, these details, but the weight of small things becomes a mountain weighing down on your back. Ryuuken knows this, and from one look, he knows that Uryuu does too.

But this, this is not a small thing. Death never is, not to Ryuuken. It should not be treated as insignificant.

His father is dead. Ryuuken has been expecting this for decades, but now, when it's actually happened, it leaves him numb and shocked. He hadn't been at the moment of discovery, but now, with time for it to sink in, the oddest thing has happened, that he is shocked.

As much as he wishes it was otherwise, Soken was always a large part of his life and never stopped being such, thanks to the shadow he cast and the hold the old man had over Uryuu. Ryuuken would have liked nothing better than to cut off all ties with his father and that way of life with his father and that way of life, to never have to be reminded of it again. That's not how it's turned out, of course. Ryuuken can never shake off the old way of life, not entirely. He'll remember it every time he looks at Uryuu. His father has seen to that.

Dead, ripped to pieces by a Hollow, that's how Ryuuken has always expected Soken to die. That is the occupational hazard of being a Quincy, after all. But he never said he wanted him to die like that. Not once.

Just one lamp on, the living room is dimly lit and awash with stretching twilight. Ryuuken sighs as he goes to collapse in the armchair by the couch. "Good God," he mutters. "What a mess you've left me with, old man."

After blood and decay there rises in memory the siren song of weeping. Uryuu had sobbed and cried today until his throat was sore and raw and his voice could barely rise above a croak. Ryuuken's surprised he wasn't sick from swallowing all his tears. He doesn't think he's ever been Uryuu cry so much, or wail so hard. Not even when he was a baby was he capable of weeping so much.

_He shouldn't have… Well, maybe he should. But not like this._

Uryuu shouldn't have had to see this. Children, such young children, should not see the people they love die so violently. They shouldn't know the language of blood and brutality. Death should be as distant to them as the stars in the sky. They shouldn't be able to identify It by Its gaunt face.

But at the same time, if this can put Uryuu off that lifestyle, than one good thing will have come of this day. Ryuuken can hope, and he hopes that now, seeing what happens to those who fly too close to the sun, maybe Uryuu will think better of pursuing the old ways. Maybe he won't go that way.

_He still shouldn't have had to see it. This was what I tried to shield him against. He should not have had to see it._

Ryuuken swallows bile as he curses his father for subjecting Uryuu to this. Whatever path the boy chooses, when morning comes, all there will be is grief and small things gathering into a mountain. That's all he cares about.


End file.
